


Heuristics

by kauzchen



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:58:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kauzchen/pseuds/kauzchen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is a luxury in the thick of war, and what is sown must always be reaped. As one of only two people alive who can speak the prothean language, Shepard is given the task to learn more about Javik's civilization while she is still able.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Heuristics_ is a kmeme fill that has seriously gotten away from me. I will be posting the final draft here, which differs slightly from what has been posted on the kmeme. I'd also like to say a big fat thank you to my wonderful beta Penstakingly, who happens to also be a very talented writer. This fic would be one hundred times worse without their amazing skills and dedication. Thanks for putting up with me!

From the moment that Shepard had released Javik from his stasis pod, he had been a man of few words, preferring to let his feelings be known by a solid gaze or a half-concerned noise of disapproval in the back of his throat. She had never known him to speak more than was necessary. He never reached out to her unless there was some immediate matter to attend to or he felt it necessary to divulge some secret of war that he was sure she didn't know. She'd tried valiantly to provoke him into opening up about the protheans past just their wartime tactics and interactions with the Reapers, if not to sate her own curiosities then at least to have something to bring back to a wide-eyed and spring-heeled Liara.

Her attempts had so far proved mostly unsuccessful. He'd told her bits and pieces of his dead culture in between oaths of vengeance and lapses into defeated nostalgia, but nothing of significance. Liara admitted that her forays into Javik's cargo hold had proved likewise fruitless. After a few moments of prodding, he'd typically clam up, brush past her to see to some pressing matter that didn't involve discussing his long-extinguished race, or simply tell her to leave.

The closest Shepard had come to really touching Javik was during their visit to the Citadel. Only there did he seem to soften and seem to really see the galaxy around him as a citizen of the 22nd century, not tinted in hues of black and red by the glasses of war and loss and 50,000 years of stasis. But even then, he'd curtly thanked her for her time and returned to the _Normandy._ When they next spoke, he had once again erected his walls.

"It's infuriating," Liara said with a frustrated shake of her head. She crossed her legs and draped her arm over the back of the padded bench, staring out the window of the starboard observation deck. "Of all the protheans to uncover, we have to find the grumpy stoic one."

Shepard laughed and leaned forward, about to deliver some insightful and encouraging comment about how she was so sure he'd open up eventually, but Joker's voice interrupted her. "ETA to Arrae is thirty minutes," his voice buzzed with faint distortion over the intercom.

"Well," Liara commented, smiling gently, "perhaps we can bemoan our bad luck some other time."

* * *

Perhaps in a subconscious effort to maybe—just maybe—uncover more about both Javik himself and the finer details of his civilization, Shepard requested that he accompany her along with Garrus to Arrae. He'd complied without a complaint, as he always did.

They made short work of the Cerberus grunts, and amid a flurry of reunion speeches and excited questions shared by Shepard, Garrus, and Jacob, Javik waited patiently within the facility. Jacob cast him a wary glance every so often—the same glance he'd given to Thane when he'd first been recruited. Jacob gave her an achingly familiar "Commander-are-you-sure-you-know-what-you're-doing" eyebrow-quirk and Shepard nodded to him, a knowing smile playing on her lips as her eyes slid automatically sideways to Javik's stiff form.

After getting patched up and surviving the barrage of third degree from his former teammates, Jacob stood and offered a hand to Javik. Javik took it reproachfully, unsure of how to treat this sudden display of human emotion. "Thank you for your help out there," Jacob said, giving Javik a stern handshake before releasing him. "We all really appreciate it." He then excused himself, leaving Shepard smiling with crossed arms and Javik staring in confusion at Jacob's retreating back.

"He did not inquire into me being a prothean," Javik stated, switching his gaze after a moment to Shepard.

Shepard shrugged. "He doesn't know. And quite frankly, I don't think he cares." She uncrossed her arms and faced Javik, who was staring intently at her. There was a look in his eyes that was different from how he normally looked at her. It was fiercer somehow. Interested. He was not simply entertaining a question of hers or communicating about battlefield tactics.

His lips pressed tightly together.

He was _curious._

"Does it bother you?" Shepard asked, intending to milk this moment for all it was worth.

"No," Javik said quickly, abruptly tearing his eyes away from her to settle once more on Jacob, who was talking quietly with his girlfriend in the main room. "It is strange that he does not wish to know more about me. Surely he has not seen a race that resembles me. Surely I am foreign to him?"

"I can't imagine he knows what you are just by looking."

"Then he does not care who you ally yourself with?"

"As long as whoever I choose as my ally can handle themselves with a gun, why would he?"

Javik nodded and seemed to disconnect himself from the subject entirely, turning his attention to the doorway and then to Garrus, who was walking through it with his assault rifle nestled in his arms. "You choose your allies wisely, Commander," he said under his breath, his voice heavy with accent, before they all moved to finish the mission.

* * *

Liara's blue eyes positively sparkled. "Fascinating," she said for probably the fifth time since Shepard had walked into her room.

Shepard, feeling quite accomplished about getting Javik to reveal a very subtle but ultimately fatal personality quirk, leaned back against the wall. She'd relayed the conversation on Arrae to the ever-grateful asari, and ever since, she had been veritably trapped. Liara was absolutely not letting her out of her room until every tiny detail of this Javik-Shepard-Jacob interaction was revealed.

Liara whirled suddenly to her private terminal and tapped a few things, bringing up what looked like a research diary. She typed for several moments before pausing, looking up, and then saying _"Fascinating,_ Shepard," one more time.

"Yes, well," Shepard cut in, genuinely worried that Liara might melt into a puddle of excited asari-doctor-goo, "now we know where to start."

"Exactly. He obviously trusts you more than he trusts me, so I think you should handle this from here on out."

"I—wait, what?" That certainly got her attention. She peeled herself off of the wall, stepping next to Liara and peering at her research diary. "Handle what? What exactly is _'this'?"_

Liara didn't even give her the decency of a sideways glance. Her eyes stayed glued to her research diary and she hurriedly tapped away at it. "'This' is our little Prothean situation. I want to know more about him, Shepard. I need insight into his culture." She stopped typing mid-sentence, cutting off an exuberant exclamation of serious progress being made, to look up pleadingly at Shepard. "Please. When he dies, his civilization dies with him."

Those eyes. She could never resist those eyes, the warmth in them that tugged at her heart. "Dammit, Liara."

Liara smiled in satisfaction and turned back to her terminal. "I'll take that as a yes. You should get started whenever you feel is appropriate. Just remember, give him attention, but not too much. It's important to act more or less disinterested in him. If I'm correct in my assumptions, if you ignore him enough, he'll eventually come to you."

"I can't believe you've roped me into this."


	2. Chapter 2

It did not escape Javik's attention that from there on out, he was brought on every single mission. Even during routine trips to the Citadel, Shepard insisted that Javik accompany her. "Just in case trouble crops up," she'd explain, although from the narrowing of all four of Javik's eyes, she was sure he didn't buy it.

She didn't explain herself, though. She allowed Javik to wonder openly at her whenever she called him to her side in pre-mission briefings. She allowed him to glance surreptitiously at her from cover during their many run-ins with Cerberus. She allowed him to linger near the elevator on the crew deck, knowing he was hoping that she'd run across him and feel the urge to engage him. All of these things she allowed, and it began to drive Javik absolutely mad.

"Commander," Garrus drawled as they sat playing some strange two-player turian card game, "I think you should talk to Javik."

Shepard calmly drew a card. "Oh?"

"Well," he went on, taking her placated tone as a bid to continue, "I'm sure you've noticed he's been staring at you during missions." A pause. His mandibles twitched in agitation. "A lot."

She scoffed and drew another card. "Garrus, you worry too much. He's just watching my six."

"Oh, he's watching it alright. He's watching it _real_ well."

Shepard laughed at his obvious discomfort and attempted to half-heartedly make sense of her hand. She hadn't quite grasped the concept of this game yet, but she'd mastered her poker face. Plus, she was mostly certain Garrus wasn't quite adept at reading human facial expressions. "Feeling threatened?"

"Threatened?" He laughed, peering at her from over his cards. "No. Not threatened. A little uncomfortable? Maybe." He set two cards face down on the table, looking all too smug. "It's just not every day that a 50,000-year-old prothean starts paying special attention to your, ah, former mate."

Shepard hummed as she rearranged her hand. "Still have a soft spot for me, Garrus?"

Before Garrus could manage a response to her teasing, the door to the observation deck whooshed open and Javik stepped through, heavy footsteps rattling the smooth plates of his armor. He saw Shepard and Garrus sitting at the table and stopped.

"Javik," Shepard called, and Garrus grinned as a blatant told-you-so, sharp turian teeth showing from behind his mandibles. "Care to join us?"

He hesitated for a moment, glanced from Shepard to Garrus and then back, and then took a step backwards. "No, Commander." With that, he turned and left, just as abruptly as he had come.

Shepard continued to stare as the doors closed on a sigh of air. "Huh."

"Interesting that he'd come looking for you," Garrus said in all too smug a manner before laying his cards out face-up on the table. "Also, I win."

* * *

Shepard kept Liara updated on the progress of Operation: Get Javik to Talk About the Protheans, but it was slow going. Javik was resolute if he was anything, and despite how many times he deliberately "accidentally" ran across Shepard, he never mentioned her sudden interest-but-not in him. At one point, he entertained a brief conversation with James about human food, but during this conversation he kept his eyes trained purposefully on Shepard—who was sitting at the mess table and eating her dinner—and only ended up confusing James. "He's a strange one," James told her later, going over some mission reports in his usual place in the shuttle bay. "Stares at you an awful lot, too."

And so life moved on with Javik thoroughly creeping everyone out and Shepard pointedly ignoring it. By the time Shepard heard word of Cerberus stirring up trouble planetside again, two more people had already mentioned Javik's bizarre propensity for watching her. "He's openly ogling you," Joker had supplied, with a simple word of agreement from EDI, and later on, Kaidan had gently let her know that she should talk it out with him. "He's the last of his kind," Kaidan had suggested in that soft tone of his. "I can imagine he's probably feeling lonely. Maybe he's made a connection with you and is trying to reach out to you. Either way, I'd get it sorted out before it snowballs. I wouldn't want him on my bad side."

And then, of course, there was Garrus. It had seemed amusing to him at first, if a little discomfiting, but now he just seemed downright disturbed by it. She hadn't wanted to let anyone else in on she and Liara's covert operation, but with the annoyed growls and rumbles coming from Garrus's chest, she figured it was now unavoidable.

"Shepard, I feel like you're taking this thing way too lightly."

Shepard set the datapad down hard on her desk, and it clacked loudly against the steel. _"Again,_ Garrus?"

Garrus raised his hands in defense and then paced near her fish tank. "Look, it's none of my business. I know that. But other people are starting to notice the way he looks at you."

She gave him a very stern look.

"Don't misunderstand. This isn't a jealousy thing. This is an I-don't-want-you-getting-murdered-in-your-sleep thing."

Shepard had every intention of ripping Garrus a new one—she really did, honest—but when she looked up at him, she saw him with his eyes trained on her, his mandibles fluttering lightly—saw the genuine concern in his posture—and her anger immediately deflated. Damn him and damn Liara, too. Damn her weakness for people showing signs of caring about her. "Okay," she said on a breath. "Okay. I should probably explain something to you."

By the end of the conversation, Garrus looked visibly relieved and Shepard was hoping Javik would crack very, _very_ soon. She didn't want the entire crew of the _Normandy_ to be in on this thing.

* * *

As hoped, Javik cracked.

But not in the way she would have liked.

She, Javik (of course), and Liara had descended upon a Cerberus operation, intent on sabotaging what they could of the research facility. The planet they were on was hot, humid, and overall a hellhole. She and Liara were miserable, but Javik seemed no worse for wear. During a break in fire, she had apparently been staring at Javik, cursing him for his resistance to this terrible weather and for piquing Liara's persistent curiosity, and he seemed to notice. At first, he looked surprised to find her looking at him, but then the expression faded and he motioned for her to join him in cover. She did, wondering if this was the moment when he would bare all to her. From behind a ruined crate to their left, it seemed Liara was wondering the same thing.

_You were looking at me,_ Javik said in a voice that was deeper than Shepard remembered.

Liara's eyes grew wide and for a moment Shepard wondered why. Then it occurred to her, hitting her with the force of a freight ship: he was speaking to her in Prothean! The translators they all wore would not translate Prothean, so Liara was completely in the dark. In this one aspect, she and Javik were alone.

_Yes,_ she responded brusquely and with ease, and it became obvious that Liara was having trouble focusing on anything but Shepard and Javik.

Javik huffed, though it sounded distinctly like a laugh, just as another group of Cerberus troops descended in the distance. "You speak to me now?" he said simply in a language that the translator could catch, leaning out of cover to gun down an engineer attempting to set up a turret.

"I speak to whomever I please, whenever I please," Shepard responded on a grunt that came from recoil, sniping off a Phantom that had been heading toward them at a frightening rate. _I think a more pressing question is why did you speak to me in Prothean?_

Beside them, Liara deployed a singularity, and Javik took care of the hopelessly floating Cerberus troops.

_You and I are all that is left of the Prothean language,_ Javik responded, again in Prothean. He looked at her, his gaze intense again, and continued: _I will speak in Prothean to whomever I please, whenever I please._

Shepard opened her mouth to speak, ready to launch a volley of heavy-handed words about insubordination and teamwork, but a rocket whistled just above their cover and sailed straight into a wall behind them, rocking the facility by its foundations. All thoughts of communicating in Prothean were dropped from Shepard's mind as Liara shouted, "Atlas!" and rushed for better cover.

Shepard cursed and scanned the area for a better vantage point, now hyper-aware of the lurching mech, where before she hadn't even noticed its presence. The idea that an _Atlas_ had snuck up on them didn't bode well for her, and it didn't seem to make Javik feel particularly good either. A glance over her shoulder showed her that he was sneering and stiff-necked, holding his rifle against his chest in a tight grip. To her horror, he turned to look at her at the precise moment that she was sizing up his body language, perhaps sensing she was watching him or perhaps just getting lucky. Immediately, his posture relaxed and he tossed his head away from her and toward the mech and dashed out of cover to take a few potshots at it.

Presently, Shepard found an access ladder to the facility's catwalks and scrambled up it and into cover. She heard Liara shout as the mech opened fire at her and then felt the ripple of energy in the air as Javik unleashed a dark channel upon the Atlas. Again, he rushed out of cover to get in a shot or two. A bullet cracked and then shattered a portion of the mech's glass window. Shepard smirked from her post above the action. The hole in the glass was directly in front of the mech operator's head.

"Shepard," Javik yelled, "you have a clear shot!"

"Oh, I know," Shepard mumbled while putting the Cerberus grunt's head in her crosshairs. Before he could so much as register that there was a life form up in the catwalks, Shepard fired, and the inside of the mech's cockpit was suddenly splattered with reddish gore and chunks of brain matter. When she pulled the sight away and checked her handiwork, Javik's eyes were on her, and he looked positively predatory.


	3. Chapter 3

Javik would not leave her side. He showed up everywhere that she did by some strange coincidence, always _looking_ at her but not talking. He didn't care that the entire crew knew of his strange fixation on her. Even Liara had expressed concern, admitting that perhaps they should not have tried to manipulate him as they did, but Shepard was in too deep now. She'd tasted it, the feeling of him opening up to her, the rush of excitement from him divulging secrets in a thick accent that he would tell to no one else. She was doing this for Liara. For posterity.

Shepard could handle Javik shadowing her constantly. She could handle that staring was probably a-okay in ancient prothean culture, and that was probably why he did it so much. She could handle the growing tension between Javik and Garrus, the latter of whom she still owed a good, in-depth "talk."

What she couldn't handle was when he talked to her in Prothean.

Something about hearing the language made the cybernetics in her skull tingle. And when she spoke back to him in his language, the words rolled from her throat as low vibrations, noises she didn't think she was capable of making. Speaking Prothean was like breathing. Like shooting a gun. She couldn't imagine not knowing how. Shepard spoke an earthen language, having hailed from there, but she had never really recognized it as a real language, just as she never really recognized Turian or Salarian as real languages. For as long as she'd been in a military career, she'd always had her translator, and when the time came that dropping comm links could mean the death of her entire squad, she was one hundred and ten percent okay with getting a neural implant for it. Most people had them nowadays. But they diminished these different languages so that only one remained, one language that wasn't even really a language—more like a compendium of all languages constantly being translated, parsed, made into understandable terms.

But Prothean...

Prothean was _real._ It was visceral. She could feel the words making her pallet raw from vibrations when she spoke. She could see the ridges at Javik's neck pulsing whenever he responded. Her own mind was decrypting this language, not some implant. Even if the only reason she could speak Prothean was because of the beacons she'd come in contact with, it didn't change the fact that she experienced the sensation of language fully and truly when she spoke with Javik.

The rest of her crew didn't appreciate it as she did. They weren't used to being kept deliberately in the dark, either, and she couldn't blame them. She would go over a mission report to a table full of antsy and anxious yet very capable soldiers, and suddenly Javik would go off in his thrumming Prothean tones, his _You inspire your crew, Commander,_ and his _They are frightened, Commander_. All eyes in the room would snap to his and then to Shepard, who'd calmly reply "Thank you, Javik," in her dull and watery earthen language to assuage her crew that no significant information was being kept from them.

For all that Shepard loved the way Prothean felt when she heard and spoke it, she felt perverse for knowing it. She was not Prothean and there was something that felt inherently wrong about speaking to a man who was the last of his kind in a language that had been dead for a good 50,000 years. She sat quietly at the mess hall table now, eating her food in relative silence, hoping that no one—especially not Javik—would come by and engage her. She could hear the hum from the forward battery, the muted beep of medical equipment from the med bay, and even the footsteps of the occasional crew who happened to walk by, but she didn't hear the firm and legato sound of the Prothean language. And that was all that mattered at the moment.

Thoughtfully, she took a bite of mashed potato.

_In all that your species has evolved, you still have not moved away from eating root vegetables, I see._

She was so used to Javik sneaking up and throwing his Prothean words at her—dripping with accent and heavy with the arrogance of one who is light years beyond his peers—that she didn't even flinch. She placidly chewed and swallowed and then poked at her mashed meal with her fork. _No reason not to, Javik._ She must have sounded more annoyed than she meant to, because she saw Javik's posture unfold with the vaguest hints of insecurity.

_I did not—_ he started, seemed to struggle with what to say next, then settled on, _That was not meant to offend, Commander._

The thought that maybe he reacted more to her when she spoke in Prothean occurred briefly to her. If she had acted offended in any other language, he might have brushed it off or suggested she not be hurt so easily by words. Even stranger yet, it occurred to her that _she_ reacted more strongly to an emotional stimulus when it was presented in Prothean. She'd actually been slightly wounded by his offhand, obviously teasing comment. She and Garrus joked like that all the time, but suddenly, when it was said in the low pitches of Prothean, it stung a bit.

From somewhere in the back of her mind, Liara cheered and begged Shepard to study this phenomenon further. Was it something about the vibrations that invoked a chemical reaction in the prothean brain? Some impulse to treat this being with more respect, maybe, or to care about them more than any other average alien around them? If that was the case, it was certainly possible that the prothean beacon had altered her.

Shepard wasn't all brawn and military dogma. She enjoyed a little scientific research now and then. Empirical evidence, she could call it. Sometimes a situation called for a little application of heuristics.

_Javik,_ Shepard said in her gentlest voice possible, which ended up sounding rather strange in the intonations of Prothean, _we haven't had much of a chance to talk._ She pushed her plate of food away and propped her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands. _Tell me about you._

Javik immediately stiffened, though he probably assumed she hadn't noticed. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, staring off at something that wasn't Shepard. _I have told you enough already._ His voice was hard, determined, no longer just vibrating but also flanged—like a turian if he were sitting on a drive core.

This is it, Shepard thought. If she were talking to him in any other language, he would let the conversation die here and go off to brood. But if he said something without her responding—if he initiated the conversation—

_And there are not many things about me to know._

Oh, Liara was going to have an aneurysm at this.

It appeared as though Javik was trying very hard not to seem terribly interested, despite the fact that his eyes languidly wandered to her. Shepard remembered Liara's words well, warning her not to pay him too much attention, so she put another scoop of mashed potatoes in her mouth and chewed slowly. Javik shifted. Shepard swallowed. She glanced briefly at him. _Well?_

His eyes narrowed a fraction, and then he inclined his head toward her, arms crossed and posture tight. _Ask, Commander._

She had not been expecting that.

She wracked her brain for questions that wouldn't seem too in-depth, something somewhat superficial, deciding that stringing him along was definitely the best option. If he had some weird thing about people not caring about him being a prothean, then dammit, she'd play along. _What's your favorite food?_

He looked about as amused as Garrus did when she had suggested they attend the elcor rendition of Hamlet. _It was boiled ferengi fish._

_I've never heard of that._

He scoffed and unfolded his arms in order to walk—no, _saunter,_ in a very stiff-limbed, formal, prothean way—to the other end of the table. (And since when did she know what was and wasn't considered "prothean"?) He did not take a seat, but he rested his hands on the back of a chair there, leaning over it much like he did over the basins of water in the cargo hold. _You would not have._ He studied her face, following the flutter of her eyelashes, the curved line of her jaw, the smooth column of her neck, made bare by the simple black t-shirt and hoodie she wore, and then averted his gaze to her plate of food. _I can assume the ferengi and their fish have been extinct for thousands of years._

_I'm sorry to hear that, Javik._ Her tone was sincere. She had not meant it to be.

_Sorry?_ he asked in a low, rolling timbre. It was gentler than when he usually talked. The pitch lowered until the vibrations in his throat were almost louder than the words themselves. It almost sounded regretful—sorrowful. _You do not have to be sorry, Commander. I have...forgotten many things. The taste of ferengi fish is among them._

This conversation had gone somewhere she did not want it to go. Shepard wasn't sure how to back off now without cutting off Javik altogether or seeming callous. Those were the last things she wanted him to think of her. She wanted him to open up, but on his own terms, and of his own accord. No prompting. No direct questions. And that meant walking a delicate balance between outright pestering him and completely ignoring him.

Shepard's voice sounded choked; her intonations were high and tight. _We can find you a different favorite food._

He laughed quietly, a thick, docile sound that made the folds at his throat ripple. _Perhaps, Commander._

_Well, hey, I hear salarian liver is pretty good,_ she commented offhandedly, desperately attempting to lighten the mood.

_I prefer a more subtle taste._

Feeling generous, Shepard pointed her fork at her mashed potatoes, raising an eyebrow. _Want to give it a go?_

_The human root vegetable?_

_This "human root vegetable" happens to be a very delicious and versatile staple of a healthy human diet._ She pushed the plate slightly toward him. _Go ahead, try it._

Javik stood to his full height and began to walk back around to her side of the table, ignoring the plate of mashed potato she had pushed at him. _Occasionally, Commander, I feel as if you are deliberately avoiding me._ When he reached her, he stopped, towering above her with his standing form and her sitting one, all four eyes focused on her, waiting for a response to this sudden and very off-topic statement.

Shepard laughed nervously. _Where did that come from? You're not—_

He put his hand firmly on her shoulder, and her world exploded into white-hot light and gunfire.

* * *

The bright-red, bright-hot, bright-burning beam from a Reaper narrowly avoided searing a nearby prothean into the ground. "Fall back!" she heard herself say, but it was in Javik's voice, heady with the rush of battle and his accent. All around her, prothean troops, outfitted in various types of plated armor and holding many different types of weapons she'd never seen before, began to retreat, scrambling over themselves and the terrain to maintain a safe distance. Javik hung back behind his troops, firing up at the Reaper and its shadow looming over them and picking off Collectors when they got too close.

A soldier fell to the ground with a heavy _thud,_ and there was a sharp cracking noise followed by a shout of pain. "Aabim!" Javik shouted and then rushed to his comrade's aid, grasping at his arm to help raise him to his feet as he held his rifle in his other hand.

"Leave me, Javik!" Aabim pleaded, his left leg twisted into a shape that was all wrong, his voice desperate and pitched high with fear. "Go on!" He pulled his arm from Javik's hand.

"Get up, Aabim," Javik insisted, nudging the soldier firmly with the butt of his rifle to get him motivated when he slumped further toward the ground. "You must—"

He was cut off by a the Reaper's deafening synthetic bellow, saturating the air and drowning out the sounds of screaming and gunfire. Its beam cut angry black furrows in the ground as it rushed toward them. Javik stumbled backwards, dropping his rifle, and shielded his eyes until the horrified shrieks of his soldier—his friend—faded. All he could hear now were the sounds of the Reapers and all he could smell was burnt, seared, bubbling flesh.

He collected himself after a moment of hesitation, watching the place where his friend had once been—now a pile of black ash and flesh—and dashed away, toward the backs of his fleeing troops. As he neared them and the apparent ship they were retreating to, white edges began to creep up over Shepard's vision. Before she could make sense of it, she was suddenly someplace else. She was in a great hall with large, open windows and curtains made of a flighty and delicate fabric that trembled in the breeze. Not one hundred paces away was a long table filled with many foreign foods. At the table, there were protheans—so many protheans, all huddled tightly together, laughing, joking, talking in their beautiful rambling tones. Their accents were all so different that it was difficult to pinpoint how one sounded compared to another. Some contained more vibrations, while others had a more flanged tonality. Some were high, some were low, some were melodic, and some were gruff.

Among these, however, Shepard could very easily identify one:

"My friends," Javik said, lifting his arms in the air as he walked toward the table of protheans. When he was near enough to not have to shout so loud, he lowered his arms, pacing to the left. "Today we celebrate a victory." He paced to the right. "We celebrate a victory not only over one wave of Reapers, but over _all_ who threaten the prothean way of life."

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and then quieted when Javik raised a hand. "But we must not forget what sacrifices were made." The hand lowered, going limp at his side. Suddenly, he seemed tired—exhausted, really—but his voice did not reflect that. It was strong and loud, echoing through the massive hall. "Many were lost. Family, friends, valued soldiers. They gave their lives for you. For us. For our continued existence."

Several protheans had bowed their heads, but others were staring intently at Javik, transfixed on him—enthralled by him.

He threw his arms in the air again, and his voice grew louder than before. "Today, we eat for victory. For sacrifice." He paused and clenched his hands into tight fists. "Today, we eat for protheans!"

The table exploded into noise, every prothean standing up and either saluting or shouting in joy. The great hall was filled with the clamor of noise, the cries of soldiers who lived and were both grief-stricken and ecstatic to be alive. Then they began to sit and eat, the noise dying down to a tolerable level of excited conversation. Plates of fish were passed around, bowls of strange, lumpy grains, saucers of green broth and platters of some kind of large animal that had been cooked whole. The room was filled with the harsh and distinct smell of alcohol, but it was tinged also with herbs and spices.

Javik himself joined the table after a few moments of quiet reflection, settling in between two protheans in gold-colored armor. There was no head of the table, Shepard noticed. Javik, who was obviously some kind of authority figure, sat among his peers—not dignified, but one of them when in a casual setting.

"Javik, old friend," a prothean across from him exclaimed, his lips curling into a wide smile, his fangs prominent against the rest of his smooth teeth, "have you tried the ferengi fish?"

Javik laughed. It was a full, raucous laugh that came from deep within his gut and rumbled his chest. "If I had known ferengi fish were being served, I would have made sure to win the battle sooner."

A prothean beside him clapped him on the back and then they bumped shoulders, and the soldier across from him handed him a plate of thin, shriveled, spiny little fish, arranged in a fan-formation around the outer edges. In the middle of them was a red paste speckled with round black pods of some kind. Spices that smelled of earth and burning wood filled Shepard's senses. Javik breathed deep as he accepted the plate and set it in front of him. He looked up and around him at all of his brethren enjoying their meals and chatting amongst each other and at this friend across from him, who was still smiling. He lifted his glass, which was a thin glass tube surrounded by a casing of metal. It was so small that he held it between his thumb and forefinger. "To survival," he announced, but only loud enough for the men directly around him to hear.

They all picked up their glasses and raised them to their lips, taking long drinks, and then saying "To survival," as they set them back down. Javik took a long drink after this, finishing it, and then picked up a ferengi fish by the tail.

"Enjoy, Javik," the prothean across from him said. "You have earned it, if any of us have."

As Javik brought the fish to his mouth, the great hall, the table of protheans, and the array of strange-smelling foods faded from view as quickly as it had come.

When Shepard came to, she was lying on a bed in the med bay, and Garrus was standing over her.


	4. Chapter 4

Shepard groaned and shielded her eyes from the blinding white lights above her when Garrus moved away. "She's awake," he said to someone out of view. She sat up, putting a hand to her head, and tried to make sense of the events that had just passed. She remembered sitting at the table in the mess hall, eating, and speaking to Javik in Prothean. And then...

Then he had put his hand on her and transferred brief glimpses of memories about friends, family, and the losses and victories of prothean battles. And his lack of memories about the taste of—"Ferengi fish," Shepard muttered, rubbing her temples. She did not have a headache, but it was a soothing motion.

"Commander," Dr. Chakwas said, coming over to her bed and waving her omni-tool over her. "You took quite a spill in the mess hall. After you fell, Javik alerted me that you were unconscious."

"I fell and went unconscious?" Shepard asked incredulously. Even before all of the cybernetics, she had never been one to bump her head and pass out.

"Actually, you went unconscious and _then_ fell," Chakwas corrected, pulling away her omni-tool to read the output of the scan. She looked up from her reading to give Shepard a curious look and added, "your eyes were also glowing green."

"Javik," Garrus said with an undertone to his voice that Shepard remembered as something he reserved for the names of criminals—reminiscent of his days at C-Sec, when there was no Reaper threat in sight and Garrus's biggest problem of the day was where the next petty crime was going to take place and how he could prevent it. It was a voice that she hadn't heard for a long time, and it was startling how much he suddenly sounded like the Garrus from back then—slightly unsure of himself, but still headstrong. She wondered just how much of this had to do with their lack of real, meaningful communication since they'd met on Menae and felt slightly guilty for a brief moment. "He must have transferred his memories to you."

Shepard's head immediately began to hurt, and she grit her teeth. "Yeah. I got some visions of prothean life and a Reaper attack."

"Now why would he show you that?" Garrus questioned, sounding genuinely curious. He leaned against a desk as Shepard slid off the table, still a bit wobbly on two legs. This was the longest transfer of memories that she had ever experienced, and her entire body felt frail and foreign, as if she didn't have control of her muscles and her bones would snap at the slightest pressure. She took a shaky step forward in an attempt to regain her composure after being stuck in the limbo of prothean memory-transference, but her left leg buckled and she fell backwards against the bed. Clearly, it was a process not suited for her very different human nervous system.

Only slightly embarrassed, she waved off the worried looks from Chakwas and Garrus. "I've never been...transferred that many memories before," she explained, righting herself and leaning heavily against the bed for support. "And never ones that whole. Usually I just see bits and pieces, but these ones played out like a movie. I could see everything perfectly."

"Do you think Javik can control it? How many were transferred?" Garrus questioned as Chakwas began to resume her medical duties at her desk.

"I doubt it." Shepard experimentally flexed her toes. The sensations of weakness were rapidly starting to go away. She hobbled to the next bed over and was satisfied when she found she could walk again, with little difficulty. She headed for the door, almost fully functional again, but Chakwas stopped her with a firm, "Shepard."

Chakwas had turned in her chair, her face pulled taut into a concerned frown. "We don't know what the effects would be of long-term exposure to prothean memories. You were only out for a few minutes this time—"

Shepard was quick to reassure her with some platitude—"I'll make sure and be careful,"—as her mind was elsewhere. Where had Javik gone? Had he just left her after letting Chakwas know she'd fainted? Why had Garrus been there when she'd woken up, but not Javik, the one who had caused this to happen? And, perhaps the most important of all, why had he shared those memories with her in the first place? Surely he wasn't just trying to get his point across about not remembering the taste of that fish.

The mess hall was empty and quiet as she stepped out into it—slowly, as she was not steady enough for her normal quick pace—except for the footsteps of Garrus as he trailed behind her, presumably either following her or attempting to retreat to his designated home in the forward battery.

He chuckled lightly behind her, a pleasant sound that made her heart feel full, and caught up with her in two long strides. "Need a hand, Commander?"

She stretched out her hand to him with one eyebrow raised and watched him fumble with what to do next, obviously not expecting her to take him up on his offer. Before he could take her hand to presumably help her steady herself, Shepard withdrew it on a sly grin and continued toward the elevator. "Kidding. What, you think some alien transferring memories into my mind could keep me down?"

"Not for very long," he said in a casual voice as he followed her, adjusting his pace to meet hers. "Of course, it did knock you on your ass for ten minutes, so I wouldn't get too cocky if I were you."

"Garrus," Shepard said with faux-compassion, "I'm touched. And you stayed by my side the whole time?"

He made a "hmm" sound that made his voice rumble. "Maybe not the whole time." He stopped walking as they reached the elevator, and if it hadn't been before, it was now very apparent that Garrus Vakarian wanted something. He watched, waited for her to do something—select her floor, maybe, or scurry off to one of the viewing areas, but she didn't. She waited for him to speak, wanting him to get whatever was bothering him off his mind while they were alone and had some privacy.

He said nothing. Feeling the moment quickly getting awkward, Shepard activated the lift so that it would take her to engineering. The subtle shift in Garrus's mood was telling; his eyes darted from her to the elevator's access module and he tilted his head slightly to the side. He knew where she was going, and he wasn't terribly excited about the idea.

"Commander," he started, pausing, obviously trying to gather his thoughts, before continuing with, "just remember what Chakwas said. Be careful."

She smiled up at him, knowing there were a million questions he wanted to ask but didn't, and felt grateful that he wasn't going to push her. She wanted to talk about things with him; she wanted to sit in her cabin and go through every minute detail, comb through what he'd been through during their separation. Being with him—after Kaidan and Horizon, after waking to a world that had already written her off as some long-forgotten hero, and after joining with the enemy in a desperate bid to save the lives of those who didn't or wouldn't care—made her happy in ways she didn't know how to explain. He had been there to support her unconditionally, as a friend and then something more, right up until the end. But if he didn't ask, she didn't want to bring it up. It could be that he didn't want to distract either of them, or it could be that he didn't want to hear what she had to say about the whole issue.

And it wasn't that she didn't have questions of her own. She did. What were they back then? What are they now? Does he still feel the same about her? Did he _ever_ feel like that, or was she really just a stress-relief, just a casual fling not unlike the flexible turian lady he thought so highly of? Maybe—for her, at least—it had started out like that, but she had learned early on that any kind of relationship with Garrus Vakarian was a dangerous slippery slope that led to _feeling things._

Thinking about such old memories made her uncomfortable, so she stopped. There were more pressing matters that could be occupying her thoughts, starting with a moody prothean and ending with a race of hyper-advanced beings attempting to wipe out all advanced life in the known universe. It could wait. Garrus could wait. And she could wait, too.

He nodded to her and then disappeared around the corner, presumably to go off and find some work to do in the main battery. As Shepard stepped into the elevator, she found herself in rather a bad mood, and it only got worse the further the lift sank into the bowels of the ship. At last she came to engineering, the quiet hum of the drive core blanketing the deck in white noise. She noticed that Allers had left her door open, perhaps purposefully, but she ignored it, instead heading straight for the cargo hold. When she came upon the door, it opened easily for her, as always. For some reason, she had expected it to be locked.

Javik didn't turn around when she entered. He was standing at a workbench and studying his disassembled rifle, his long fingers fiddling with parts, holding them up to inspect before setting them back down again.

"Commander," he greeted in monotone when she didn't say anything for a while.

"How'd you guess?" Shepard asked, though it was more of a sarcastic quip than an actual question. Regardless, Javik answered:

"I could smell you."

She wrinkled her nose at his back, suddenly feeling self-conscious. What did she smell like? And was that a bad thing? Were all of her more sensitive alien crewmates smelling her and not telling her? She mentally shook herself from running away with that train of thought and got right down to business. "What happened up there, Javik?" she asked, nodding her head toward the ceiling, despite the fact that he was not looking at her.

Javik didn't even pause in his inspection of his rifle. "You asked about my favorite food. I gave you an answer." He glanced briefly at her over his shoulder. "Was that answer not satisfactory?" His voice was much calmer than before, as if the transference of memories had drained all of his stiffness and put it directly into her.

"You gave me more than an answer," Shepard responded, moving closer to him. He looked sideways at her and then took a few steps away, retreating to his water basin, as if he had something to do there. "I appreciate you sharing your memories with me, Javik, but I'd like a warning next time."

He was not staring into the water as he usually was but bracing himself against it, his hands clasped tightly on the lip of the basin. "I did not mean to transfer that much," he said, and Shepard figured it was as much of an apology as she was going to get. "When a prothean transfers to another prothean, he can choose what he does and does not want the other to see." His grip on the basin tightened when Shepard took a careful step toward him. "Our beacons may have altered you, but you are not prothean. I have little control over what memories I share with you."

Shepard stopped moving toward him. He was obviously uncomfortable at her proximity—a strange revelation, considering not too long ago he was trying to be as close to her as possible. "I saw you," she began, unsure of what else to say, "at a table with your friends, having a feast."

"Yes," he said shortly. "That was the memory I intended to give."

"And I saw you and a squad of troops—"

"I do not care to relive the past," he snapped, sneering at her from over his shoulder. "I know the memories, Commander. Or do you forget that they are mine?"

Shepard furrowed her brow. All of that calmness had left him very quickly. She figured there was nothing left to do but leave and let him stew in it for a while. Javik was not to the type whose mood increased the more time he spent with someone. "Anyway, try not to make me faint next time," she told him as parting words, hoping that perhaps the light teasing in them would lighten his mood. It did not. She took a few steps backwards toward the door, considering saying something else, but then deciding against it. As far as she knew, Liara was still relying on her to keep the plan going.

She began to walk out, intent on paying Liara a visit to update her on all of her recent experiences—she would be absolutely delighted to hear descriptions of the food and architecture, for instance—but stopped when she heard Javik begin to speak.

"You smell of turian," he said under his breath, perhaps even as an afterthought.

Of turian? Garrus must have been the one to carry her to the med bay.

She said nothing in response to Javik, but continued on her way, the door to the cargo hold closing quietly behind her.

* * *

"Oh, Shepard, this is incredible." Liara positively floated around her room, pacing from one end to the other, presumably mulling over all that Shepard had told her. "I'd began to have doubts about our plan, but this changes everything. To have this empirical evidence—no, this _primary source—_ is..." She stopped to take a breath. "Amazing."

Shepard's smile was wide, one eyebrow raised. She had her arms folded and leaned against Liara's doorframe, watching the doctor enthuse about this information as if she'd just given her an entire archive of prothean literature. "I take it we're making progress, then?"

"Oh, you have no idea," Liara said, immediately moving to her research diary to begin inputting all that she had learned. "To think that protheans had banquets. It was to our understanding—'our' meaning myself and other prothean experts—that protheans ate separately unless during a period of mourning." She shook her head. "It's enlightening to see just how wrong we truly were. And—oh—you mentioned seeing a grain-like food in the memory?"

Shepard nodded.

"We had no idea the prothean digestive system could even _process_ non-meats. We were under the impression that protheans were strictly carnivorous."

"No, I definitely saw some vegetables in there," Shepard affirmed, thinking back to the table, lush with platters of food and cups of alcohol. All of the protheans had looked so joyous then. Even Javik had laughed and smiled along with all of this friends. She began to grin at the memory of it, but then she remembered what else she had seen: the Reaper, huge and imposing over the prothean troops, decimating them by the hundreds. She remembered Aabim, and how Javik had tried to save him. She remembered the wrenching pain she'd felt in her chest—in Javik's chest—when Aabim had been reduced to a pile of ash. For all the celebrating the protheans did after that battle, which they had presumably won despite the losses and retreat, it meant nothing in the end. The Reapers still summarily annihilated them, their culture snuffed out and now nothing more than a ghost that hung heavily on Javik's shoulders.

Liara's voice snapped her to attention. "Did he have any comments on your memories, Shepard?"

Shepard shook off the tightness she felt in her chest, pushing aside the question of "Is that what will happen to us?" for a later time. "I didn't give him any."

Liara's smooth brow creased, and she pulled away from her research diary. "I don't think you can control it. It is to my understanding that he can knowingly transfer you whatever he wants, but you will unconsciously transfer some memories to him as well."

All thought processes ceased. Shepard's stomach churned. _"Any_ memories?"

"I haven't had much time to study this phenomenon, but from the data I've gathered from your and Javik's brief encounters, it seems as though he will experience only the strongest of your memories."

Is that why he'd been keeping his distance? What had he seen? Her life as a teenager on Earth, roaming the streets for something to eat? Her life as a young woman on Akuze, screaming and crying as her entire squad was wiped out? Or maybe he saw her life as an adult, taking comfort (and more) in Garrus's arms? _"You smell of turian,"_ he'd said, and maybe that was what he meant. For some reason, the thought of Javik knowing just how intimate she and Garrus had been made her wildly uncomfortable and somewhat indignant. Not at him, of course. He was an innocent party in this. According to Liara, he did not choose what memories he saw.

Maybe he hadn't seen anything like that at all, though. For all she knew, he'd only seen times when she'd almost careened the Mako of a cliff, or defeated a thresher maw on Tuchanka, or even when she witnessed the suicide of Saren. All of those had been major life events for her.

"Don't push yourself," Liara soothed, obviously sensing her discomfort, touching Shepard's arm gently. "I know the memory transference process can be...debilitating." She smiled sheepishly. "And try not to do it during battle."

"Yeah," Shepard said distantly. She pulled away from the wall, feeling tired suddenly and hoping that their next mission would take her mind off of current events. "I'm going to go check on our ETA with Joker."

Liara looked reluctant to let her go, but she nodded presently, wringing her hands. "Be well, Shepard."


	5. Chapter 5

Shepard's finger rested lightly on the trigger of her sniper rifle while her eye and visor pressed against the scope. She moved it slowly over the expanse of the battlefield, spotting Javik crouched behind a fallen piece of building. He was waiting for her signal to charge.

"Garrus," Shepard whispered, activating her comm.

"Here, Commander," he responded, his voice crackling. Something was causing interference somewhere. She swung the long barrel of her rifle to where he had also taken up a sniper's post, way up in an abandoned Cerberus comm tower. She zoomed in on his location, viewing him through the crosshairs of her rifle and noting the way he was leaned up against a decommissioned control panel: rifle up to his eye, the barrel leaning out of a window. He was also scanning the battlefield carefully. She allowed herself a moment to admire his finesse with weaponry—he could easily switch between a sniper rifle and an assault rifle in a matter of seconds—before returning her focus to Javik. "Watch for any Nemeses," she said quietly, and Garrus grunted, "Affirmative," while Javik thrummed, "Yes, Commander."

They were taking down a Cerberus communication buoy this time, but they'd found the base strangely empty upon arriving. It seemed that the Cerberus operatives on this station had anticipated their arrival and withdrawn into the bowels of the compound, presumably to regroup and launch a full assault. She'd instructed Garrus to take up his sniper rifle and find a good place and then tapped Javik's bicep and let him know that he'd be acting as bait.

"But don't worry," she'd assured him, "Garrus and I are the best damn snipers this side of the galaxy."

Javik had made a low noise of assent, activating the armor-piercing ammo module on his assault rifle. "A primitive tactic," he'd commented, inspecting his gun once it had the proper settings.

"I don't know, Javik," Garrus had shot back, nodding toward Shepard, "the commander is pretty good at this sort of thing." There was no malice or ill will in his voice, despite his feelings toward Javik. He treated the prothean as he would any other teammate, with respect and careful amiability.

Javik had turned, then, moving to find suitable cover. "We shall see."

"Cerberus, ten o'clock," Garrus said in a hushed voice over the comm link, and Shepard swung her rifle to where he had indicated. A lone Cerberus engineer was working on a turret, apparently fine-tuning it. Her visor gently whirred and displayed readouts for her: shields at full health, armor slightly worn, and vulnerabilities at his neck and behind his knees.

"Hold position," she commanded quietly. She didn't want to alert Cerberus of their presence just yet—at least, she didn't want to alert them of her and Garrus' presence. People tended to panic when there was _one_ sniper; two would prompt Cerberus to unleash the cavalry on them. She held her breath for a few moments when the engineer looked up toward her, up where she was holed behind a mess of ruined crates and machinery in an old storage loft, but then he looked away and moved to the back of the complex, probably to check the other turrets. "Garrus, can you take out that turret?"

"My pleasure," Garrus rumbled, the silencer on his rifle reducing the gunshot to a muted _fwik_ sound that Shepard only heard because he'd left his comm active. She watched the turret's guns wilt and deactivate with a soft buzzing sound, and she saw him give her a thumbs-up (where had he learned to do that?) through her scope.

She waited for a while longer, constantly scanning for any sign of movement, but Cerberus remained firmly locked inside of their compound. She was beginning to worry that they might just have to rush in there, but she decided to wait a while longer, figuring it was better to take them by surprise than just charge in and blow everything to bits. She was no vanguard. "Any news down there, Javik?" she asked, knowing full well that anything he had seen she would have seen but just wanting to make sure.

"Nothing," he said back, and she saw him adjust his position slightly.

"Garrus?"

"Nothing over here, Shepard."

She furrowed her brow, looking over to the Cerberus complex again. No sign of life. The engineer hadn't even reappeared.

_I am surprised at your subtlety, Commander, given your previous life on your home planet._

The sound of Prothean coming over the comm link—her _private_ comm link, no less—startled her so that she briefly pulled her eye away from the scope and considered his words. So he had seen some memories of Earth. The thought of Javik knowing these closely guarded, intimate details of her life unsettled her. However, now was not the time to let discomfort distract her. After regaining her bearings, she resumed her position. "That was a long time ago," came her even reply. She hadn't responded in Prothean, as she felt that a small rift seemed to have formed between them since the memory transference. Whatever he had seen had been enough to make him suspiciously scarce compared to his constant shadowing of her before the incident.

He didn't seem to dislike cross-species mating besides finding it largely unnecessary and totally fruitless. So if he had seen her with Garrus, well, then there was no reason for him to be terribly upset. It was very possible that he had seen something else that she had done which he had not approved of, but she couldn't recall anything specific that he wouldn't agree with. When the traditions of his culture were not brought into play, he was largely a logical being, and she definitely related to him on that note.

Would he judge her for letting the Destiny Ascension fall to ash? Never; it was only logical that she order the Alliance to save their firepower for Sovereign.

Would he judge her for leaving Ashley behind? No; he would understand that protecting the bomb made sense from a tactical standpoint.

He responded to her in Prothean after a moment of silence, despite her refusal to use it in her own response. Either he hadn't noticed or hadn't cared. Something told Shepard that it was the latter. _Yes. I saw that you were an adolescent. I also saw that humans have not changed much._

Of course, there was always one other possibility: Javik _specifically_ didn't like that she had spent time with Garrus. The thought gave her a guilty thrill that she dismissed immediately. Javik had been an accomplished soldier in his time and was surely above such things as petty jealousy. Besides that, he had never shown a romantic interest in her or anybody—a general interest, sure, but a strictly platonic one.

She didn't really want to talk about her time on Earth and the place of her species in the universe, but it might be a good chance to squeeze some more information out of him. "Oh?"

_In my cycle,_ he continued, his voice occasionally overlaid with static due to the poor signal, _your kind lived in close communities with family and friends. That is still true of this cycle._

Well, she hadn't been expecting that. She had been fully prepared to shoulder some arrogant quip about humanity. But this genuine interest, devoid of any superiority or insult, was strange, and she wasn't exactly certain how to respond. She didn't like where the conversation was going, regardless. She idly swung her rifle around to check on the status of the Cerberus facility, hoping maybe something could cut their talk short. Nothing. "Sometimes," she mumbled, knowing what was coming next and dreading it.

_But not you._ Yes, there it was. _You were alone._

At that moment, Shepard had never been happier to see a flood of Cerberus troops funneling through the front doors of the complex. "Go!" she shouted to Javik over the public comm channel. Without a second thought, he emerged from his cover, mowing down an engineer. A lone figure storming the battlefield, he drew the attention of every grunt while Garrus picked them off one at a time. Shepard spotted a Nemesis climbing up the abandoned comm tower, obviously not aware that Garrus had already taken residence there, and she put a well-aimed bullet through the troop's forehead. The sniper fell to the floor with a dull _thud._

"Nice shot," Garrus said around the dampened sounds of his sniper rifle.

Shepard grinned. "My pleasure."

* * *

The bait plan having worked like a charm, they quickly gained momentum as they fought their way inside the complex, with Garrus dropping concussive shots everywhere, Javik applying his dark channel generously, and Shepard setting people on fire. The change from a heavy tactical assault to just plain old brute force wasn't something Shepard would have preferred, but in the tight corridors of the facility, they didn't have much of a choice. It was really all they could do to keep the friendly fire to a minimum. Garrus had caught fire twice—"Shepard, I can't stop, drop, and roll every five minutes!"—and at one point Shepard's left hand had been consumed by Javik's dark channel—"Commander, you need to remain still and let it abate!"—but they were making definite progress.

They emerged into a wide room with high ceilings and plenty of hiding spots— _finally_ —and Shepard immediately ducked behind a large desk, motioning with two fingers for Javik and Garrus to spread out. This still wasn't an ideal condition for sniping, so she kept her pistol drawn, looking over her shoulder and watching for any sign of trouble while her teammates found cover. She could sense that they were close to the central control room where they could shut down the facility and limp home.

"In position," Garrus said over the comm. Javik also confirmed his position moments later.

"Good," Shepard replied, still watching vigilantly for any signs of life, "now wait for my signal." They'd left a trail of carnage in their wake, destroying anything that had come in their way, so she wasn't concerned with what was behind. This was a mistake she came to dearly regret making.

By the time Shepard noticed the Phantom, it was much too late. She heard light footsteps behind her and whirled around, pistol raised, and was met with the four glowing red slits of the Cerberus operative's helmet. Before she could react, the Phantom moved—impossibly fast—and a screaming pain erupted in Shepard's gut. She opened her mouth in a quiet gasp, pistol still clutched tightly in her right hand, and staggered away from her attacker, who was pulling away a shortsword streaked with blood. The pain was ten times worse than any gunshot wound; it felt like her entire abdomen was on fire.

Blood and her own heartbeat roared in Shepard's ear, but to her credit, she fended off the Phantom's next attack, shooting her in the leg and making her stumble backwards. She heard the muted sound of one of her teammates shout—she wasn't sure who it was; all she knew is it wasn't a sound that human vocal chords could make—and was distantly worried that they'd been ambushed before the Phantom was lifted into the air, weightless, and slammed bodily across the room.

With her assailant gone, Shepard slumped against the desk, gritting her teeth against the pain. A pool of blood was quickly forming around her and she grasped at the place where she kept her medi-gel, growing frustrated when she was unable to find it.

Javik was the first to arrive beside her. He dropped to his knees and knew immediately where her medi-gel was on her person. As he was pulling it out, Garrus appeared, weapon drawn, scanning the area for anything else that could threaten them. Their voices came to her as if filtered through a tunnel. She wondered why her cybernetics hadn't at least dulled the pain, but then, with a start, realized that they probably already had. She didn't want to think about what this would feel like for someone who didn't have implants. Javik was speaking to her as he slathered medi-gel over her open wound, her blood quickly staining his fingertips, but she couldn't and didn't care to pay attention to him. Pain was making brief bursts of white erupt behind her eyes, and her breath came in quick, short pants. Was she poisoned? She must have been. She squeezed her hand tighter around the grip of her pistol.

Javik barked something at Garrus, who, looked hesitant at first but finally darted off to the center of the room. When Javik turned to look back at Shepard, she could no longer hear his voice at all, but she could still distantly see his lips move. She felt his hand covering her wound, slick with medi-gel and her own blood, and his other grip her upper arm. She stared at the pointed tips of his teeth while he spoke to her—yelled at her, probably, if the exaggerated movements of his mouth said anything—and then at the way his eyes darted to search her face. If he was capable of anxiety, this was probably the look he wore when he was experiencing it.

The medi-gel seemed to be working to close her wound, but it did nothing else. She suddenly felt a sharp lance of pain and sat straight up, clenching her jaw to keep from crying out, and then collapsed forward against Javik's shoulder. A firm three-fingered hand went to her back—probably to hold her still—and then the pain abruptly stopped.

* * *

Shepard saw herself. She was standing among her crewmates in the mess hall, socializing and having fun. She saw her own form move from place to place and saw her own quirks—like her exaggerated hand motions and the unladylike way that she stood—that she'd been aware of but never really paid any attention to. She was watching herself as Javik.

She remembered, very faintly, that something important was happening at this time. It was strange that she was experiencing his memories at this very moment, but she found she couldn't concentrate on it. The idea slipped from her thoughts as fine grains of sand would slip through her fingers. Suddenly, Liara's approach drew Javik's gaze away from Shepard.

Liara was holding a datapad, text scrolling slowly as she watched Shepard. "She's a wonderful commander," Liara said softly, and Javik made a humming sound in response.

"She connects with her teammates," he commented, folding his arms. "She befriends them. It is a common tactic."

"It's not a _tactic,"_ Liara defended, looking up at him with a slightly affronted expression. "She _is_ our friend. Many of us here have known Shepard for years, and I think that any of us would die for her, just as she would for us. Just as she has."

"Alchera," Javik said simply, the name sounding so much less sinister in Shepard's mind when framed by his pleasing accent.

Liara's expression changed to one of surprise. "You knew?"

"Recently," he said, tilting his head as he continued to watch Shepard. Shepard was laughing now, slapping James on the back while Kaidan allowed himself to manage a few quiet chuckles as well. Shepard remembered this scene very well. It had happened not too long after she had been transferred Javik's memories. "Her memories," he clarified.

"So you saw."

"I saw very little," he snapped, his mood suddenly darkened. "I saw the stars after she was spaced and the wreckage of her ship. I felt her breath leave her."

"You felt her death." Liara looked very pale now and slightly disturbed, the corners of her mouth turned downwards. "I'm sorry. That must have been horrible."

"Do not say sorry to me, asari." It was at this moment that Shepard's past form turned around, noticed he was looking, and gave him a slight smile. She remembered that it was a small nicety, and she remembered being confused at the way that he had looked at her—his softened expression. Shepard felt an odd stirring in her chest. She couldn't tell if it had been her or Javik. "I was not the one who experienced it."

As she responded, Liara's voice began to fade along with the mess hall. The grey steel walls of the _Normandy's_ interior all at once became bright violet and the cold floor melted into shifting sand. A warm breeze blew over what was exposed of her skin—Javik's skin. Javik looked behind him, over his shoulder, where a strange-looking and relatively compact ship rested on a platform. The ship was tan in color and streaked with reddish paint, with blocky script in the prothean language written on the side that Shepard could instantly understand: _IMV Recourse._ A prothean man, his skin a familiar dark shade of bluish-green and his eyes a bright copper, stepped beside Javik. He was an inch or two shorter with a darker, smaller crest on his head, and he put his hands on his hips, staring out at the vast desert before them.

"It's beautiful," the prothean said, his voice light and undertoned with throaty vibrations.

Shepard felt a gentle rumble grow in Javik's chest, more of a quiet, low, rolling chirp, and he spoke with a somewhat distant voice. "Do not grow too attached, Aabim. The Reapers' destruction will spread here soon."

So it was the prothean she had seen before, destroyed by the Reaper's beam. This had obviously occurred before the prothean victory on the other planet. Aabim put a hand on Javik's shoulder, giving him a look that might have been sympathetic. "We'll stop them." Javik looked off into the distance, then, toward a cluster of looming, vaguely pyramidal buildings that were no more than proud shapes on the horizon. An animal called from some point in the distance, the noise sounding foreign to Shepard but completely familiar to Javik. The dichotomy of feelings played an uncomfortable battle in Shepard's head, though the weight of Aabim's hand on Javik's shoulder was unanimously decided as comforting.

Aabim withdrew his hand slowly and Javik looked down at his feet. His toes dug only slightly into the sand, keeping a firm grip without sinking. It occurred to Shepard that his feet were extremely suited to this type of terrain. "We will," Javik agreed after a moment, looking back up and at Aabim, "because we _must."_

"Commander," a voice that wasn't Aabim's said from seemingly nowhere, and Shepard thought for a moment that she had been addressed and panicked, wondering if this scene was reality and not just a memory. But Javik answered, "Yes," into his communicator, and Shepard felt a little silly. Javik had been a commander, too. She had almost forgotten.

"The inhabitants of this colony have all been safely evacuated. We are waiting for you aboard."

Javik stayed still for one more moment, enjoying the feel of the warm air, the soft sand, and the white-yellow stars dotting the rapidly darkening sky. He felt a sharp line of tension disappear from his shoulders and he closed his eyes, shifting his toes into the ground. He felt comfortable. At home. This _was_ his home, Shepard realized, with no small amount of longing. She wasn't sure who it belonged to.

Javik turned to walk with Aabim toward the ship, his homeland and its violet sky, strange creatures, and far-off buildings at his back.


	6. Chapter 6

Other people's words began to trickle into Shepard's subconscious. She heard Javik's voice, but from far off, even while she watched the quickly fading forms of he and Aabim hop up onto the platform that his ship was resting on. She heard the sound of gunfire and then a shout, and all at once, the pain in her gut was back. She yelled out and curled around it, finding herself pressed against something cool and smooth but not in the right state of mind to consider what it was. When she opened her eyes, the muscles around them sore from how hard she'd been clenching them, she saw the familiar metal inside of the _Normandy's_ transport shuttle. She could hear Cortez shouting to hurry up and felt the shuttle tremble and shake as Garrus hopped inside of it, still shooting out of the open bay door.

"Commander," a voice from above her said, and she looked up, pain wrinkling her forehead, to see Javik staring down at her. He had an unreadable expression on his face, and when the shuttle jerked violently from Cortez gunning it away from the Cerberus base, Javik held onto her to keep her from falling onto the floor. Slowly, whenever shoots of pain didn't cloud her thoughts, she discovered that she was lying in his lap, one of his stained hands still pressing tightly to her quickly healing wound. The coolness she'd felt had been the armor at his stomach. It felt good against her flushed face, so she pressed further into it, cringing. She felt like maybe she should try and sit up—it probably wasn't good for her teammates to see her debilitated like this—but she couldn't summon the strength to do so, and besides, it felt good to be in Javik's lap, where his legs made a soft pillow and his armor brought relief to her fevered skin.

Garrus rapped his knuckles hard on the door to the cockpit, signaling to Cortez that they were all (mostly) safe. He paced toward Javik afterwards, holding onto railings on the ceiling to keep from falling over. The shuttle never offered a smooth ride. "How's she holding up?" he asked, a hard edge to his voice that Shepard didn't recognize.

"She's warm," Javik said, pressing the tips of his fingers to Shepard's forehead. They were cool, like his armor, and she groaned in pleasure. "But her wound is healing."

Garrus cursed, throwing his head and looking away from the scene. "We should have paid more attention."

"It was a fool's mistake," Javik agreed, and Shepard felt his fingers slip from her forehead down to her cheek, possibly in an idle movement, before he pulled them away entirely. She silently mourned the loss of contact and turned fitfully in his lap. "But the commander is paying for it dearly. Next time she will be more alert."

"It wasn't just Shepard's fault!" Garrus barked, looking from Javik, his eyes hard and defiant, and then down to Shepard. When he saw that her eyes were open and she was watching him, every feature of his face softened, his the plates on his face falling away from their tense positions and his mandibles fluttering slightly. "Shepard," he said under his breath.

Javik's hand, the one that wasn't against her injury, went around her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. "She has been awake for some moments."

"Is she still in pain?" Garrus moved closer to the pair, his knees buckling slightly when the shuttle hit some brief turbulence.

Shepard began to speak, a bit tired of hearing others speaking for her, but her mouth was dry and her lips cracked. "Not as much as before," she croaked. She tried to roll onto her back, but she found the weapons still strapped to her back prevented her from doing this. She settled on just laying on her side, and she felt Javik stiffen when she shifted. No doubt he was uncomfortable. His bleeding, possibly poisoned human commander was lying in his lap. "I think I've been poisoned."

"You were," Javik affirmed, not looking at her, but out the shuttle window.

She swallowed a grunt of pain. "How do you know?"

"I can smell it."

Garrus gave her a strange look at this, but it didn't last very long. He shook his head, and though he appeared to be relatively calm, his mandibles were still twitching every so often. He was worried. Or bothered. Shepard had never been able to get turian facial expressions down. "You're indestructible, Shepard."

Shepard managed a weak laugh. Javik shot Garrus a murderous look, though it didn't seem to faze Garrus, who continued ribbing Shepard. After the light joking—which Shepard was thankful for, as every other moment she felt like every vein in her body was about to burst open—he started to explain what exactly had happened. After the Phantom had attacked Shepard and Shepard had shattered her attacker's kneecap, Javik had used his biotics from clear across the room to slam the operative away from her. "She was just red paste on the wall," Garrus explained, glancing surreptitiously to Javik. "I've never seen someone use their biotics with that much force before."

Javik said nothing, though Shepard felt his fingers twitch against her shoulder.

Garrus went on to say that while Javik tended to Shepard, he had gone to the center of the room, where the main control center was housed in a big column of glass. He'd shut off the comm buoy, which had encouraged every surviving Cerberus grunt to come chasing after them.

"And I passed out," Shepard finished for him, frowning.

Javik looked down at her. "No. I transferred memories."

From the look on Garrus's face, it was clear that he had not been privy to this information. "Why? Do you realize how dangerous that was?"

"I know full well the effects," Javik said back in an uncharacteristically calm voice. "The commander was going into shock. I transferred memories in order to preserve her."

"The pain was gone," Shepard said with a wispy voice. "I didn't feel anything."

"It's a common prothean practice for the injured," Javik clarified, giving Garrus one more another stern look, its severity at least mildly subduing the turian. The brief exchange between aliens played out as if a superior officer were berating some young buck soldier. Garrus wasn't wet behind the ears by any means, but it seemed that perhaps he knew Javik had been in the right this time and was grudgingly admitting it. "If we have time, we comfort the dying and wounded. We give them pleasing memories before they pass."

"Is this something you do for just anyone?" Garrus asked. "Seems like it'd be inefficient on the battlefield."

Shepard watched Javik hesitate for a moment. The ridges at his throat quivered slightly. "No," he said carefully, as if any word could at any moment be used against him. "It is typically a rite performed between family, close friends, or the joined."

"You mean mates?" Garrus's mandibles were flat against his face now. He was strangely still.

"Yes." He considered the turian before him slowly before turning his attention out the window again. The _Normandy_ was slowly coming into view of the shuttle, set stark against a backdrop of the blackness, small dots of light blinking quietly behind it. The ship was a loud one when docked on a planet, but out in the vacuum of space, it existed in absolute silence. The only noise now was Shepard's still-labored breathing and the clanging noises from within the shuttle.

Shepard credited her next action to being feverish from the poison. After Javik's admittance of sharing something with her that he would normally only share with those closest in his life, she looked up at him and said _Thank you, Javik,_ gently in Prothean.

She felt Javik start underneath her, saw him look down at her with wide eyes, and felt something in her chest tighten before pain overtook the feeling and she winced away from his gaze. The shuttle docked with several jostling movements that threatened to reopen Shepard's wounds, and when the shuttle door opened, Chakwas, Liara, and James were waiting outside with a stretcher.

* * *

Shepard spent the remainder of the day recovering in the med bay. Javik had helped her out of the shuttle and placed an arm around her as she hobbled to the stretcher. Chakwas had given her a "please-stop-almost-dying-Commander" look as she waved the omni-tool over her, letting her know in no uncertain terms that if she didn't have those cybernetics, she'd already be dead. Garrus was mostly used to this idea, but Javik had looked somewhat disturbed, his heavy brow furrowing and his lips pressing into thin lines. Liara had fretted over her a little bit but James had laughed, patting her gently on the hand and then returning to his corner of the shuttle bay.

Once in the med bay, Garrus had presented Chakwas with the Phantom's blade, crusted with Shepard's blood, so that it could be studied and an antidote extracted. This proved quick business, and honestly, it was rather fascinating watching Chakwas work. She'd carefully examined the sword under her microscope, her fingers furiously typing at a datapad. She seemed to be in an entirely different world altogether, and Shepard didn't dare disturb her—especially not after she'd been administered painkillers and a quick shot of something all-purpose that was supposed to stop the spread of poisons and venoms. She could feel her body rapidly cooling down, and with her pain dulled to a weak throb, she could finally think again.

She had so much to tell Liara—so much about how protheans handled interpersonal relationships, how prothean architecture looked, and how their home planet, or at least Javik's, looked. And also, as much as she hated the thought, she had a lot to talk about with Javik. She assumed he hadn't meant to transfer the memory of his conversation with Liara, and she was sure that his knowledge of her death rocked him. He must have thought she was some kind of walking undead or something. Or perhaps he thought she was an AI, perfectly cloning the old Commander Shepard. Hell, she'd had the same thoughts herself at times, wide awake at night in the quiet loneliness of her cabin.

She was about to resign herself to this idea—that Javik had been avoiding her because he thought she was some kind of crazy AI—before she remembered the look on his face when he'd been tending her wound while her blood pooled around her. That was unmistakable proof that her body wasn't mechanical (or at least not fully). He had looked so shocked, though at the time she had attributed it to him seeing his commanding officer in such bad shape. Whether he was pleasantly surprised by this revelation or even further confused by it, Shepard didn't know.

Before she could think more on it, the door to the med bay slid open, and none other than Javik walked through it, carrying something in his left hand. At his approach, Shepard sat up, but Javik lifted his free hand and said, "There is no need to rise, Commander."

She smiled, but she didn't lie back down. She'd been lying down all day, and it felt nice to get up and stretch. Chakwas glanced at her over her shoulder before going back to her work. "What kind of commander would I be if I addressed my soldiers lying down?"

"A poisoned one," Javik said in a flat voice, but at the unamused look on Shepard's face, he dropped the subject. "I came to return this." He held up what was in his hand: her pistol. It was covered in dried blood but otherwise no worse for wear.

Shepard laughed and accepted her "gift," raising an eyebrow at him. "You didn't even clean it? I like your style, Javik."

He blinked rapidly and then opened his mouth to speak, saying, "Prothean do not—I was not aware of that human custom, Commander," quickly. Shepard just laughed again and waved him off.

"I appreciate you salvaging it," she said, setting the pistol on her stomach, over the thick tan-colored bandages that wrapped comfortably around her. "I also appreciate what you did for me."

He glanced from her to Chakwas and back, and Shepard got the hint. Not the best place to discuss this. Her smile turned slightly devious, and she continued in Prothean, _I meant what I said. Thank you. I might not have survived if not for what you did._

She saw his jaw twitch before he folded his arms and settled against the wall near her bed. Chakwas seemed to be trying her best to pretend like she didn't notice that the two were carrying on a conversation in a 50,000-years-dead language. _You may still have lived,_ he insisted, looking away from her, _but the shock would have rendered you incapacitated for much longer._

Shepard was still for a while, realizing that the conversation had taken a sharp downward turn, fiddling with the firearm Javik had returned to her. It was true that she didn't want to have any kind of meaningful discussion in front of Chakwas, but Javik seemed to be opening himself to her. He still had his arms crossed—which, though a human social cue, seemed to translate similarly into prothean culture—but he had not left and was entertaining her dialogue. She scanned his posture: his shoulders were tense, his face relaxed, and he had one leg straightened while the other was cocked against the wall. Her voice was soft when she spoke, the vibrations burning her parched throat: _Did you think I was going to die?_

She saw his eyes lower. He paused before responding, and when he did, his voice was so low and the vibrations so intense that she almost couldn't understand him. _I didn't know._ It sounded a lot like grief.

She reached a hand out to him and touched his elbow, which earned another jaw-twitch from him. He seemed to be clenching his teeth. _You're a hell of a soldier, Javik,_ she said, _and I'm happy I can trust you to be there for me._

This seemed to be just about all that Javik could bear, because he pulled himself from the wall with a look on his face that Shepard found impossible to decipher and told her, "Recover swiftly, Commander," before leaving the med bay in a huff. Chakwas reached over and took the pistol from Shepard's lap, giving her an amused look that clearly told her to try and get some sleep.

Chakwas delivered the antidote to her a bit later via one of the largest needles Shepard had ever seen. She then dimmed the lights in the med bay and instructed Shepard that the antidote would cause extreme drowsiness. She began to fluff the pillows of one of the beds, obviously planning on staying the night there in case Shepard reacted badly to the antidote or some other problem cropped up. Shepard was ready to argue against this—really, there was no reason for Chakwas to abandon her warm bed in the crew's quarters and _babysit_ her—but she was asleep before she could form a sentence.

She dreamed of many things that night, but mostly of sand, a purple sky, and a warm breeze.


	7. Chapter 7

Following the poisoning incident, Shepard was forced out of commission for exactly three days, which was just as well, because that was when the geth-quarian war decided to rear its ugly head again. It took exactly one day for Tali to convince the fleet to so much as acknowledge that Shepard was not a war criminal, let alone have them rendezvous with her. It then took a good six hours for the council to discuss whether or not they should continue to trust Shepard, and another six to determine whether it was safe to send any admirals on board the _Normandy._ Then, of course, when it had been decided that all was clear, the trip to meet had taken another day and a half. By the time Tali was actually on the ship, Shepard had fully healed and was ready to jump right back into the fray.

Of course, this was _all_ that she had accomplished. She hadn't had time to talk to Liara yet, between the negotiations and the whole "flushing her body of poisons" thing, and she certainly hadn't been able to find a moment to speak with Javik. She'd seen him once or twice in the corridor when she ventured out of the relative comfort of her cabin, but other than chance meetings, that was it. At least he wasn't actively avoiding her, though.

She'd started writing extranet messages to Liara, detailing all that she'd learned several times, only to delete them in frustration. How could she put the beauty of what she had seen into words? Liara hadn't pushed her, though. The plan was still go, but they had agreed on unwritten terms to take it slower from then on. The Reapers were always their top priority.

To be honest, the entire conflict the quarians had with the geth gave her a headache. She was frustrated with the quarians for choosing now, of all times, to launch an offensive against the geth, and she was frustrated with the geth for being notoriously lacking in diplomacy. It wasn't that they weren't _willing_ to negotiate; it was that they were unable to lay out their terms and phrase them in a way that would be inoffensive or in any way reasonable to the quarians. Shepard had been a mediator between Tali and Legion before, back on the _Normandy SR2,_ and it hadn't been a fun situation. She'd been sure she was about to have two dead squadmates on her hands before they could even make it through the Omega-4 Relay.

She stood now in the war room, one hand on her chin thoughtfully as Tali and Admiral Daro'Xen attempted to explain to her the situation. Shepard herself was not a very good politician. She was able to be gentle and understanding when the situation called for it, but she also liked to keep things relatively rational. The quarians' plight, while saddening, was not in any fundamental way more or less tragic than that of the geth. It was terrible the way they had treated each other in the past, but here in the future, the geth wanted peace, and that was a concept she absolutely had to get behind.

"Shepard, we have to disable that dreadnought," Tali insisted, the light on her mask blinking frantically, and Shepard gave a curt nod.

"I'll have Joker set a course. Is there anything we should be expecting?"

"Light gravity, no oxygen," Daro'Xen contributed, folding her arms and tilting her head. She was surely a powerful and capable admiral, but Shepard had never liked her ideals. This woman was logical to a _fault,_ forsaking fairness and compassion for the sake of what in the current situation would yield the most promising results.

"You should be able to stealth into the fray without detection," Tali added, wringing her hands. "Although they'd see you if they just looked out a window."

Shepard smiled, though it was faint. "Then it's a good thing they don't have windows." She was worried about this mission. She'd be sneaking onto a geth warship during an active battle and disabling it from the inside. While she didn't doubt that it was possible, that didn't mean it wasn't terrifying. Immediately, she began to plan who would accompany she and Tali. She wanted someone who was familiar with the geth and had experience fighting against them. Garrus immediately came to mind, but, since she'd been taking him along so much lately, she decided that she should give him a rest. Liara was definitely the best choice.

"I'll be in here if you need me," Tali said, cutting Shepard's thoughts short. She turned to a console and began to work, no doubt cutting through some of the vicious quarian red tape that came with her promotion.

* * *

Garrus gave her an odd look over his omni-tool. It was one of those looks he wore so infrequently around her that Shepard had never really been able to attribute an emotion to it. It was startling, sometimes, how truly _alien_ turians were. If she had not grown up in the circumstances she had—on Earth, in a time when aliens freely visited and fraternized with each other—if she had grown up perhaps three hundred years ago, when life outside of humanity's tiny blue planet was just a distant dot of hope and fear on an ever-lengthening horizon, she might have been frightened of him. He certainly looked like a typical monster of human fables, with his jutting angles and sharp teeth and hard carapace.

He cleared his throat suddenly, and Shepard blinked, slightly ashamed that she'd been staring at him. "You're worried about me?" he asked, for what was perhaps the second time; if he had spoken before, Shepard hadn't heard him.

"Not so much that," she responded, not missing a beat, tossing aside the awkward situation as if it hadn't happened at all. "Mostly I'd just like to give you a bit of rest." She grinned. "I'm going to need you by my side and in top shape for when we meet the Reapers head-on."

She had meant it as a joke, but she saw the plates on Garrus's face move into a serious expression. "Of course," he said stiffly, and then continued much softer: "You know I wouldn't dream of _not_ being there." Possibly sensing the shift in tension, he dropped the seriousness and his mandibles flared into a slight smile. "Besides, I think I owe the Reapers a good talking-to."

"That's definitely what we're going through all of this for," Shepard agreed, leaning back and crossing her legs, happy with the light mood. "You know, just to sit the Reapers down and give them a stern lecture."

"Knowing Commander Shepard, Diplomat Extraordinaire, I wouldn't doubt it."

She laughed and waved him off, glancing down at her omni-tool when it lit up. Garrus's did the same at exactly the same time, cluing her in that it was probably an alert to their proximity to the geth-quarian battlefield. "Asking for peace in a universe perpetually at war isn't the worse thing I could do," she finished, leaving the conversation at that. She stood, gave Garrus a nod, and then made her way toward the elevator, intent on collecting Tali from the war room and then doubling back to the CIC.

* * *

Before she even passed through the scanner, she could hear the bustle that was occurring in the war room. The two privates operating the scanner weren't engaging in their typical conversations; rather, they were focused on the muffled noises coming from the room next door. It sounded like muted arguing, and for a moment, Shepard assumed it was either Daro'Xen and Tali or Tali and some other quarian admiral over the comm link. Instead, when she stepped through the door, she saw Javik and Tali just about at each other's throats.

"Shepard," Tali said in what sounded like a mix of surprise and relief, mirroring Javik's clipped, "Commander."

"Who the hell _is_ this?" Tali demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at Javik, who crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at her.

Shepard put up a placating hand. "What's going on here?"

"Your race was always too preoccupied with political squabbling to advance themselves," Javik bit stubbornly, shaking his head. "Unworthy of prolonged contact."

"What does that have to do with anything? And who do you think you are, insulting my people?"

"How far you have come," Javik finished, his tone heavy with accent and sarcasm. It looked like he was about to say more, but Shepard quickly put a stop to it.

She spoke in a firm and slightly agitated voice. "What the hell is going on with you two? Javik, what are you even doing up here?"

His angry gaze turned from Tali to Shepard, but there was also the smallest hint of hurt in his features, as though he'd been doing her some great favor and she'd just thrown it back in his face. "Am I not allowed free roam of this vessel, Commander?"

"Yes, but you are not allowed to pick fights with my crewmates."

Admiral Daro'Xen snorted from behind the trio, drawing their attention. "He was hardly picking a fight," she lilted, her posture suggesting that she might have been greatly entertained by this whole ordeal. "He came here to find you and drew up conversation with Tali regarding our people."

"'Blatant mockery' is a lot different from 'conversation,' Admiral," Tali responded, sounding more outraged than Shepard had seen her in a long time. With only passing amusement, she considered that Javik tended to have that effect on people.

"I am only speaking the truth," Javik said, shrugging, and that was when Shepard decided that the two of them probably shouldn't spend any more time together for now. Javik had a tendency to insult people and Tali had a tendency to not react well to insults, especially when her people were currently warring with the geth and tensions were high. She hoped that Javik hadn't mentioned anything regarding that, because it was _kind of_ a touchy subject.

"Javik," Shepard snapped, effectively cutting short their conversation. "If you need to speak with me, let's go to the comm room." At least that would give them some modicum of privacy, assuming what he needed to say required it.

He nodded his assent and followed her, and Shepard was hyper aware of the stares on her back. She could hear Tali curse under breath and Daro'Xen give an amused huff as they both entered the curved pathway into the comm room. Once inside, Shepard leaned against the railing there, facing Javik. "Alright, you have my attention." She smiled at him, an indication that she hadn't intended on dragging him with her just to lecture or berate him. "You could have just pinged me. What's up?"

He scoffed in disgust, waving a hand as if to rid himself of the bother. "I prefer to not use your inferior communication technology unless absolutely necessary." Once he decided he did not want to continue this tirade, he fixed his gaze on her, tilting his head only slightly to one side. "Before being accosted by your quarian—" here Shepard raised an eyebrow, "—I was curious if you'd planned on bringing me on this upcoming mission."

"Not this time," Shepard responded gently, and at the expression on his face—some mix of confusion and anger—she elaborated. "Tali is obviously coming along, and I needed one more person who is intimately familiar with the geth. Some past teammates have fought the geth with me before."

"You will be bringing the turian, then?"

"Liara, actually."

As his features calmed slowly, Shepard came to the realization that Javik had accompanied her on almost every mission so far. She hadn't included him every time on purpose; she tended to choose teammates by tactical advantages and what complemented her skills best. Javik just happened to be perfect for her battle style. In that regard, she could understand his puzzlement. He must have thought he was some permanent member of her squad. "My team is fluid," she explained, not wanting to hurt his feelings, if that was even possible. "I choose teammates depending on the situation."

He nodded, his limbs stiff. "Understandable."

She smiled and placed a hand on his bicep that he didn't immediately shrug off. "You're invaluable as a partner, though. That's why I tend to take you with me so often."

"I did not need to be made aware of this. I am quite familiar with my own level of skill on the battlefield."

She laughed softly at him. "Tough luck that you aren't nearly as diplomatic."

"It is not my concern if a _teammate_ is unable to handle criticism," he said rather acerbically, adding "Or the truth," as an afterthought.

"Be that as it may, you should try to get along with everyone."

"You say this as if I am not _already_ trying." He turned his body to look out the hallway and across the war room, where Tali was barely visible at an opposite console, busily typing at a terminal. "It is not among the easier tasks I have undertaken."

They fell into a brief silence, with Shepard's smile still lingering after his friendly quip and Javik looking as uncomfortable as ever in the enclosed space of the comm room. It was colder than most other rooms of the ship, as no one spent any significant amount of time in it. She looked down at her feet in contemplation, or perhaps in waiting for Javik to continue the conversation, at the rounded and bulky toes of her boots and then glanced to Javik's. She wondered if it was irritating to walk around the cold ship wearing just the thin slips he wore over his feet. His quarters were always awfully warm and humid, so that must have been what it was like on his ship.

She tried to remember if she'd received any memories of the interior of the IMV _Recourse,_ his supposed ship, but when she tried to think back on it, her mind felt fuzzy and strange. It felt as if the memory was barely skirting her grasp, within reach of her fingertips but not close enough to grab. She wondered if this was what it felt like for all protheans or if it was just because her human brain was not meant to handle this kind of communication.

"What was the _Recourse_ like?" she asked without really thinking, too lost in thought with a million other things, and then immediately regretted it. She saw him still, saw the ridges beneath his jaw flex.

He looked her up and down for a moment, the look in his eyes fluctuating wildly between rage, despair, and desperate curiosity. "Where did you hear this name?" he asked, sounding distant. It was such a difference from his previous lightly joking tone that Shepard was rendered momentarily speechless. When she regained her bearings, she tried desperately to institute some damage control. He didn't seem like he was about to snap or anything, but he did appear disturbed on a level she had never witnessed in him before.

"It was—" she began, unsure of how to lay it out for him. He had knowingly given her memories, but perhaps the scenes had stretched on longer than he had meant them to. "When I was poisoned, it was part of the memory you gave me." She dropped her gaze to her feet again, feeling almost ashamed that she'd brought it up. How would she feel in his position if someone brought up the _Normandy_ in such casual connotations, knowing the situation? She probably wouldn't even dignify them with a response. "I saw it. Briefly. It was beautiful."

He didn't speak for a very long time after that. The uneasiness in the air between them was palpable, and any friendly pretenses they'd held for each other had slowly dissipated. She watched his feet while she was waited for a response, listening to the hum of the engines, the intermittent beeping of the terminals in the war room, and her own pulse thrumming in her ears, her blood stirring partly from guilt and partly from excitement. She usually had more control over what she said, but for some reason, with Javik, discussing his memories seemed the easiest and most appropriate thing in the world. Perhaps because they essentially became her own for a time, or perhaps because he had been slowly revealing more and more about himself to her. Either way, she knew she had crossed a line that should never have even been approached in the first place.

"It was," he conceded after a while, continuing with _The IMV_ Recourse, in Prothean, as if testing the words on his tongue.

_I'm sorry,_ Shepard immediately responded, not sure what else to say. The sadness she had heard in his tone when saying the name of his lost ship out loud hit home in ways she couldn't describe. She hadn't realized she'd said it in Prothean until she saw Javik's expression change for only a few moments from an exhausted, perturbed look to that same thirst for understanding. For as much as it hurt him to think about it, he wanted to know exactly how much Shepard knew about his old ship and his old crewmates. She wondered if he had purposefully given her the memories about Aabim or if those had been accidents as well.

Regardless, she had heard him speak Prothean, so she switched her languages seamlessly, unconsciously. _I shouldn't have brought that up. I don't know why I did._

He didn't address her statement but instead switched to an entirely new—if not admittedly related—one. _Perhaps we have much to discuss, Commander._ He took one step toward her, which was a major change from his typical course of putting a good amount of distance between them. It must have been the Prothean. Hearing it stirred something inside of him, maybe—some long-forgotten camaraderie due to the chemical composition of his very prothean brain. If she said that hearing Prothean didn't stir similar feelings in her, she would be lying.

_Perhaps,_ she admitted slowly, while looking up from the floor—only to find that he had moved much closer to her than she had initially thought. He was close enough now that she could see the pupils in his eyes. They were so strange and different from hers and she watched them dilate as he looked over her form, from her neck down to her waist and back. She wasn't completely certain if standing this close was normal for protheans or if Javik was just acting oddly. "Another time," she said resolutely, but the change from Prothean to her own language hardly bothered him, if at all; he did not back up and he did not stop looking at her.

_Speaking in Prothean makes you uncomfortable._ It was not a question.

Shepard furrowed her brow up at him. In truth, he wasn't much taller than her, probably two or three inches, but it still made her stomach flip when she could feel his breath across her cheek when he spoke. Not talking in Prothean usually did the trick, but he was being unusually forward now. "It does not."

_I will clarify,_ he hummed, eyes flicking down to something below her chin that she couldn't discern before they came back to her eyes. She was not afraid of him—wasn't even intimidated—but she couldn't deny that she felt nervous. Nervous because of his nearness, because his open appraisal of her, and most importantly, nervous because of how she could feel her body reacting to all of this. _Speaking_ to me _in Prothean makes you uncomfortable._

Snapping to attention and realizing that _right here_ and _right now_ was not an appropriate place to be feeling and seeing the things she was, Shepard put one hand on his chest, resting it on his cool, smooth armor. "Only because you're standing kind of close." She pushed ever so gently and he took several steps back, a growl forming deep in the pit of his chest that twisted his lips into a grimace. He seemed to understand their current situation as well. The reality of where they were—in the comm room with two quarian admirals and a handful of crewmates just outside—hit her full force, and she felt almost dazed by it.

He began to whirl around and presumably storm out of the room, the returning of his senses apparent in the almost unnoticeable quivering of his neck-ridges, but he seemed to remember himself and he stopped mid-turn, his gaze lifting from some point on the floor to Shepard's eyes. His were bright and wide, though his crest appeared heavier over them than it usually was. "Good luck on your mission, Commander," he said brusquely, but it was lacking neither in sincerity nor respect. With that he _did_ storm out of the room, walking quickly through the cold war room and to the scanning area.

Shepard gave him quite a bit of a head start, not wanting to be caught with him in the scanning area—how awkward would that be?—but also not wanting it to look like they'd just had some kind of quarrel to the audience sitting in the other room. Something had certainly occurred, but Shepard could not and did not particularly want to put a name to it. She thought only momentarily on the reasons for the exchange, mulling over prothean communication chemistry and whatever _interpersonal_ chemistry she and Javik may have cultivated, before banishing the thought from her head entirely. Dwelling on it was pointless.

Sighing, she turned to the comm link and activated it, wondering if Hackett was available. And if she was lucky, she'd even be able to get a hold of Anderson. It would be nice to hear his voice again.

* * *

Tali was much more collected than Shepard remembered. She appeared to have grown much more in the time they were apart than could ever have been anticipated; even Liara voiced her amazement at how much Tali had changed.

Of course, Tali was still Tali. She still thanked Liara and Shepard, sounding only vaguely sheepish, and then explained that after the death of her father, the events on the Collector base, and her promotion to admiral, she'd had to grow up faster than was normal for quarians. This was apparent in the way she now carried herself, with her back straight, her arms clutching a shotgun more like it was an extension of herself and less like it was merely a tool standing between herself, life, and death.

"Have you met our new prothean squadmate?" Liara asked as they waited in the _Normandy's_ airlock. She glanced once to Shepard, giving her an unspoken bid to contribute to the conversation whatever she could, but Shepard only winced inwardly.

Tali made a noise of disgust. "Yes, I have," she said flatly, clearly unamused.

Liara seemed shocked, though Shepard didn't know why. She didn't think anybody liked Javik when they first met. In fact, she wasn't so sure very many people liked him now. She wanted to say they just hadn't gotten to know him, which was partly true, but it was also partly true that he had a bad attitude. "Then you two have talked?" Liara questioned.

"If by 'talked' you mean 'almost strangled each other,' then yes. Yes, we did."

"I see," Liara said, almost sadly. "He is...difficult to get along with."

"Did he insult your race too?"

"More times than I can count."

"He's invaluable in combat, though," Shepard cut in, ever trying to keep the peace, even as Joker cut in over the intercom. She didn't miss the odd look Tali gave her, but she chose not to acknowledge it.

"Shepard, there's a problem with the geth tubes. Only one is intact. You'll have to find another way in."

"No," she said quickly, "I'll go alone. It's too risky for the whole team. I'll open up another passage from the inside."

"Shepard," Tali said in warning, but Shepard waved her off and instructed both she and Liara to wait. "I'll keep watch over your progress," she promised, after it was obvious that Shepard was absolutely not going to back down.

The _Normandy's_ doors opened, revealing the suffocating blackness of space now cluttered with debris from ruined spacecrafts of both geth and quarian origin and ongoing shots of gunfire from battlecruisers.

A platform leading to the geth dreadnought listed closer, and Shepard jumped.


	8. Chapter 8

Vibrations from the guns knocked Shepard on her ass and rattled her teeth.

"Shepard!" Liara shouted, rushing to help her friend to her feet as Tali fended off approaching geth. She grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into cover, Shepard clutching her still-bloodstained pistol in her hand. "The gun. We have to time carefully when we move out of cover."

Shepard could only nod in agreement, her blood still singing from the blow she received. She allowed herself to recuperate in cover while the shockwaves from the massive gun barreled down the hallway again. Tali shouted, "Go!" and the three of them darted out, huddling behind a piece of blockade when they'd gone as far as they'd dared.

They continued this dance for several minutes until they could reach and disable the gun. It was a fairly surgical, straightforward process. The geth didn't have much flair for winding passageways or unnecessary rooms, so the path to the gun was mostly linear with some lofts for control panels and spare parts storage peppering the paths. These worked well for Shepard, who more than once took roost atop them like a particularly dangerous bird of prey, picking off geth with well-aimed shots and spatterings of whitish fluid. Whatever Shepard couldn't see or whatever came too close, Liara's biotics took care of, and Tali's tech mastery kept them well-informed of where the geth were and what they were doing at all times.

The quarian admirals helpfully supplied them with status updates to the battle currently waging as well as changes to the geth dreadnought that they could see from the outside. After taking care of the gun, Han'Gerrel excitedly informed them that the dreadnought was no longer firing. It was only after a wave of geth threatened to overrun them near the very same now-disabled gun that Shepard allowed herself to take a deep breath. They were almost done.

She motioned to Liara and Tali that she was going to climb up onto a catwalk and follow their progress down the hallway. The catwalk itself was empty except for a few complex consoles that beeped muted and melancholic tones every so often. She set up against a control panel, careful not to get too close to the buttons, and waited while her partners took cover.

Sniping did not afford her an easy job. She stayed motionless for long stretches of time, controlling her muscles, holding her gun propped and as still as possible. She couldn't take a shot at an enemy too close to an ally, because she couldn't risk clipping one of them if something went wrong. She had to make sure the kill was fatal, as well, or the surviving enemy would alert others of her presence. She liked being the unseen force on the battlefield, though, cloaking when someone caught sight of her and then finding another place to hide. She liked playing the waiting game; the required patience tested her in more ways than one. Sometimes she'd count her breaths. Sometimes she'd count her enemy's.

A pistol suited her fine, but it simply didn't compare to her finesse with a sniper rifle.

A geth hunter wandered into her vision, its cloaked form distorting the light around it to make a shimmering, barely visible outline. "Hunter," she said quietly over the comm. Liara and Tali turned accordingly, facing where the massive geth had attempted to ambush them. A shot from Tali's shotgun had the geth on its knees, and then Liara unloaded a handful of bullets into its head.

Her job wasn't always to shoot anything that moved. Oftentimes she liked it better that way.

Liara and Tali progressed a bit further up the passageway, so Shepard adjusted her rifle into a position better suited for the longer range, thinking it best to stay in the same place for a while. Liara and Tali's forms became smaller and then larger as she fiddled with the scope, scanning first behind them and then to their right and left. There wasn't any sign of hostile activity yet, but they looked nervous about moving on. Liara deployed a singularity—probably as bait—and Shepard watched a corridor off to the side intently, waiting for the synthetic grinding and chirping that signaled the geth were coming.

"Commander."

"Jesus," Shepard said on a startled gasp, jerking backwards and away from her gun. She took a breath and regained her composure, asking "What's wrong?" in response to whoever had opened a comm channel with her. It had sounded an awful lot like—

"I could ask you the same thing," Javik responded, his voice slightly garbled but sounding relatively amused.

She leaned her eye heavily against the scope, scanning the empty battlefield again from between crosshairs. No stragglers yet. Liara looked to Tali and nodded, signaling her intention to move on. Shepard followed them from her perch on high, moving quietly between whatever sparse cover the geth dreadnought's bowels provided, a ghost in the machinery with a set purpose. After sliding into more cover and setting up, this time flanking Liara and Tali, she remembered Javik. "What do you mean?" she asked a little absently.

She heard him make a noise that she couldn't place any single emotion on, and for the briefest moment, she was brought back to what had happened in the war room. The thought sent a flush up her neck, and she tugged at the thick collar of her armor in agitation. He'd been so close. She could almost perfectly recall how it felt to have his body that near to her, to feel his breath flutter across her cheek and his eyes catch hers. When Javik spoke next, his voice kindled a warmth in the pit of her belly that made her feel a little guilty about the timing. "I am not the one infiltrating an active enemy warship," he thrummed, and she could imagine him now, leaning over his water basin or perhaps working on a weapon modification, so cool and composed on the outside but simmering with rage and regret just under the surface. She had to wonder why he was contacting her at all. She was on a vital mission. Didn't he know that he'd begun to distract her from a lot more than just missions lately? Wasn't he worried he'd distract her now? Or maybe, she wondered, he really _wasn't_ worried. Maybe he had no idea that just the memory of his body being close to hers made her sweat when the heretical geth surrounding her didn't so much as make her grimace. She certainly hadn't given him any reason to think all of this.

She glanced down at Liara, suddenly realizing that she hadn't debriefed the curious doctor on her prothean findings. "Oh, you know," she responded, not wanting him to think she was ignoring him. "You've seen one geth dreadnought, you've seen them all."

Javik's laugh was rich and heavy, and it reminded her—with a painful and curious ache in her chest—of how he had sounded when interacting with his prothean comrades. "Your indifference is...commendable. You are not concerned?"

Of course she was concerned. She picked off a geth scout before it even rounded the corner to Liara and Tali, perhaps to drive her point home. She was always concerned. Every mission she took on could be her last, could be her teammates' last. More than for herself, she was certainly concerned for them. What would she tell Garrus's sister? The quarian admirals? Liara's father? The thought made her stomach churn, and she focused that much harder, sweeping the battlefield and telling Javik, "Not terribly," in probably too blase a manner.

He was silent for a while after that, throughout the ensuing scuffle with a handful of geth forces and then their relocation to the next room. It was only when Shepard was forced to draw her pistol due to the tight spaces that he spoke again. This time it was with an unmistakable vibration.

_How near are you?_

The tones of Prothean never failed to make her head tingle. _Near enough,_ she responded, not completely thinking it through, moving out of cover to set a geth hunter ablaze while Liara and Tali finished it off. _Have you completely run out of things to do?_

He hummed over the communicator, and the sound made her swallow. _It is a possibility I had not previously considered. I have just returned from exchanging jokes with the large human._

Shepard snorted. _James? Jokes? You must really be bored. Although now I'm curious as to what kinds of jokes protheans have._ Tali deployed a combat drone, which easily found a hiding soldier and gunned it down.

_We do not have any._

_That's unfortunate._ Another soldier got too near to her hiding place, so she slashed behind its knees with her omni-tool, crippling it, and then fired a shot point-blank into the back of its head. It was amazing, the fluidity with which she conducted such actions while being chatted up by Javik. She had figured she would have to tell him to save the conversation for when she got back—a sentence she _never_ thought she'd have to tell Javik—but his sustained dialogue with her actually seemed to be helping. With just the smallest note of surprise, she wondered if he was doing this on purpose. Maybe it was some kind of prothean thing. Maybe she'd ask. _We humans have plenty of jokes._ But not today.

_I am aware._ A slight pause, and then: _Tell me one._

_What did the—_

_One that you made up._

She laughed under her breath, and Tali seemed to hear it, because she looked back at her. If Shepard could see through the fogged helmet, she was sure the quarian's expression would be perplexed. Liara knew what Prothean sounded like, and—bless her—she hadn't commented on it so far, but Tali had never heard it before. It must have just sounded like purred babbling. Shepard tapped the side of her visor where her communicator was and then nodded, trying to give the hint that she was actually talking to someone and not just losing her mind. Tali's look lingered a while longer before she headed out, Liara at her heels. Shepard followed at a distance as they crept further to the core of the dreadnought.

To Javik's credit, he did not push when she fell quiet. She and her team passed through an empty hallway in silence, not wanting to alert anything of their presence. He seemed to know when it was and was not appropriate to speak, and she assumed he would wait until she responded to say more. When they came into an open room—presumably the last before the main chamber—she took position in a secluded alcove behind a half-hexagon control station and loaded up her rifle. She took a moment to size up their situation, making note of Liara and Tali's position, as well as think on a joke. She was not a very clever person. It was no small task. Finally, as Tali began to deploy her drone, she thought of one.

"Okay," she started, too embarrassed to say it in Prothean. "What do me and a communicator have in common?"

He didn't miss a beat. "What, Commander?"

"We're both _voice-activated."_

His silence was both telling and terrifying. Maybe it wasn't funny enough to be a legitimate joke. Did she cross a line? Did protheans not respond to dirty jokes like humans did?

His response, completely unanticipated, made her stiffen. _Interesting._

"Okay," Shepard said immediately, regretting ever opening her mouth, "that was bad. But cut me some slack here." Tali's drone began firing at a geth drawing too near to Liara, and Shepard finished it off without so much as a second thought. In fact, most of her thoughts were not currently focused on the skirmish unfolding around her; instead, they were centered on Javik and his increasingly frustrating silence. She dispatched enemies with a mechanical efficiency that almost rivaled Legion's sharpshooting, her shots quick, steady, and passionless. She made no noises and her face stayed stoic. By now, fighting came second nature to her—especially fighting the geth.

Liara and Tali moved on presently, and soon, the drop in conversation was all but forgotten. Geth waves became more frequent, and Shepard was no longer able to use her rifle. Still, she entertained thoughts of Javik—that is, until they emerged into a large circular room. Then all thought processes stopped.

There, suspended in the center in what looked like some kind of bizarre crucifixion, hung Legion.

* * *

"Looks like he's settled in nicely."

Garrus's voice hardly startled her anymore. When he'd first been aboard, way back on the _Normandy_ SR1, he would appear from around a corner and make an observation, startling her out of her thoughts. After the events on Omega, he had taken even more of a shine to this, often lurking for a few moments before making his presence known. It almost seemed his favorite past-time, trying to to make her jump or gasp.

Shepard folded her arms as she leaned against the doorframe in the war room, watching Legion tap methodically at a terminal. He was alone in the room except for one guard stationed on the far opposite end. "Yeah," she agreed, smiling.

"It's like he belongs there or something," Garrus drawled knowingly, giving Shepard a playful glance. "You aren't thinking...?"

"Of recruiting?" Shepard pushed herself up from the doorframe, turning to leave Legion to his own doings. Garrus kept in step beside her. "If only. I think Legion is a bit too preoccupied to go off on a solo mission with me."

Garrus made a clicking noise as he shook his head, waiting for Shepard to step alone through the security scanner. "A shame," he said dolefully, following when Shepard was finished. The lines of the scanner marked grids on his armor, passing briefly over his scarred and painted face in delicate lattices of blue. He fell in step beside her again, and they exited the room together, heading for the elevator.

"He'll help regardless. I'm sure there's something the geth can contribute to the war effort."

"Of course," he said immediately, seeming almost offended that she might suggest any different. "I trust Legion. More than I trust a lot of turians, actually."

Shepard keyed in the floor for the crew deck, assuming Garrus was heading there as well when he didn't voice a protest or key in his own destination. They chatted idly during the short elevator ride, avoiding the topic of the war and focusing instead on lighter subjects. Garrus and Tali had enjoyed a drink together after their return from the geth dreadnought, apparently, and it had been discovered that Tali did not hold her liquor well at all. Shepard elbowed Garrus in the side, something that Garrus recoiled slightly at—vulnerable abdomens, Shepard remembered a bit too late—and gave him a teasing look. "You didn't take advantage of her, did you?"

Garrus looked genuinely shocked. He blinked. "Why would I do that, Shepard?"

Suddenly, the elevator was moving far too slowly for Shepard's tastes. "Well," she sputtered, looking anywhere but at Garrus. "I mean, it was just a joke. I know you wouldn't ever do anything like that."

The elevator doors opened not a moment too soon.

"Good talk," Garrus said jovially, somewhat teasingly, exiting before she did and giving her a strange look over his shoulder. "For now, I've got a bit of business to attend to."

"Right," Shepard said, stepping out of the elevator as well. "See you later, then."

She marched straight to the mess hall and then into the kitchen, berating herself the entire way. It wasn't like things between she and Garrus weren't awkward and unanswered enough. "Stupid," she muttered, pulling open the cupboard to find a protein bar or something to snack on. She was ravenous after the dreadnought deactivation and after her encounter with Garrus, whose presence reminded her every once in a while, when he gave her a sidelong look or said her name in a growling tone, of their undiscussed relationship. _"Stupid."_

"I agree."

Shepard jumped, slamming the cupboard shut and facing her presumed attacker. Javik stood before her, arms folded, his expression as unreadable as ever. What was it with aliens and sneaking up on her? "Javik," she said on a breath, her shoulders sagging. "I didn't see you."

"I noticed."

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, waiting to see if he had any pressing matters to discuss with her, before she opened the cupboard once more and pulled down a small crate of spare non-perishable rations. His voice was far different from how he'd sounded when she was on the geth dreadnought. Before it was light, joking almost, and overtly friendly. He'd sounded open and genuine. Now, he was his usual closed self, the vibrations under his voice sounding taut. "What do you agree with?"

"Your stupidity."

She paused, one hand closed around a raisin-oatmeal protein bar, and then frowned at him. She replaced the rations crate and closed the cupboard before facing him, tucking her snack into her right pocket. "Do you have something you want to discuss with me, Javik? I'd be happy to address any _...concerns_ you have with my choices."

His eyes narrowed. "Yes." Shepard opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off sternly. "But not here." He spared the room around them a cursory glance without so much as turning his head, possibly ensuring that they were alone. They were. "Your quarters may be best suited for this discussion," he said quietly.

Shepard recognized the seriousness in his tone and dropped all teasing or sarcastic pretenses, nodding tersely. "Meet me in my cabin in an hour. You don't have to knock; I'll leave it unlocked."

Shepard's stomach tumbled fitfully as he turned and walked away, and she wasn't entirely sure that it was from hunger.


	9. Chapter 9

One hour was far too long to wait for someone, Shepard decided. So far she'd accomplished a grand total of nothing in the time that she had spent waiting for Javik to appear in her cabin. She'd read over some mission reports, sure, but she hadn't _really_ read them. Her brain processed the words but the text might as well have been a foreign language. She retained none of it, her mind staying dutifully trained on Javik, his insistence on speaking with her, and his abrupt change in demeanor.

She thought briefly back to their conversation while she was on the dreadnought, the way he offered her a helpful distraction that soothed her nerves and let every battle play out smoothly. It must have been some prothean thing; some tactic they used when on high-stress missions. She was grateful for it—so grateful for it, in fact, that she had every intention of thanking him for it. She seemed to be thanking him a lot lately, and she wondered if it would continue to be a trend. Perhaps sometime soon he could thank her.

Her door buzzed suddenly, her omni-tool flashing at the same time, and Shepard's heart leapt into her throat. She'd said it was alright to just walk in, and anyway, he was half an hour early. Whatever he wanted to talk about must have been important. Shepard walked stiff-limbed to the door and it opened at her approach, the rush of air fluttering her hair against her cheeks. She expected to see Javik standing there, grumpy as always in his cool, smooth-plated armor. What she didn't expect to see was Liara, datapad in hand.

"Shepard," Liara said, as if surprised to see her.

"Liara," Shepard echoed, because she was in fact very surprised to see her. Remembering herself, she stepped aside, beckoning for the asari to enter. "What's up?"

Liara wasted no time in explaining her presence, which was probably for the better. She walked straight to Shepard's elevated work desk and sat in the chair there, scrolling through the datapad as she talked. "I'm sorry for showing up unannounced like this," she said, not looking up from the datapad. "You've just been so busy lately that it's been hard to catch you alone."

"I've been meaning to come speak with you anyway," Shepard said, waving a dismissive hand and moving to stand beside Liara. She glanced only momentarily at her hamster on the shelf, who was hiding, as usual. "Is it about Javik?"

Liara shook her head, looking up at Shepard. "Not specifically, no. I've been doing more research into the Crucible and have, by extension, been researching the protheans. I was hoping you could give me a bit more insight, as I believe you've been transferred memories since last we spoke." She hesitated for a moment, looking suddenly embarrassed. "Unless I'm mistaken, that is."

"I have," Shepard confirmed, holding back a sigh. This was not exactly the way she wanted to explain her findings to Liara. It was especially inconvenient considering Javik was about ten minutes away from walking in on them without knocking. Still, she didn't want to tell Liara she expected company—that might seem like she was trying to get her to leave, or worse, like she _wanted_ her to leave. She decided to go the most diplomatic route: Be short and to the point. "Do you have any specific questions?"

"Ah—" Liara started, obviously not expecting this. "Yes. Of course." She readjusted herself in her chair, holding her datapad in a manner that assumed she was using it to record the conversation. "Did you happen to see what kinds of habitats the protheans flourished in? We think it may have been arid climates, but we aren't completely certain." Her smile was wry. "Archaeologists rarely are."

"I saw a desert environment," Shepard admitted, nodding. "I can't be sure that it was the prothean homeworld, but it seemed a lot like it." She drew her thoughts around the memory, trying desperately to recall the feeling of her toes sinking into warm sand, the soft breeze against her skin. She wanted to be there now, with her back to the _Recourse_ and Aabim at her side. She wanted to retreat to that place that Javik had been and thoroughly enjoy one last look at the untouched planet. Javik was lucky in that regard. His final images of his homeworld were ones that were beautiful and calming. The last Shepard had seen of Earth, it was in the process of being besieged by Reapers. Palaven was already ravaged. Hopefully Thessia could hold out long enough to give Liara the luxury of seeing it in one piece.

Liara cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable with the silence. "I'll just consider that a strong maybe, then." She typed a few things into her datapad, looked like she was about to continue with the questioning, but then suddenly stopped. "Shepard," she said firmly but gently. "Maybe we should talk about...other things." She put her palm over the screen, as if this action would completely cut her off from the Shadow Broker-slash-archaeologist mindset. "Are you alright?"

Shepard's shoulders sagged. She couldn't lie to Liara, but she didn't want to pawn her problems off on her either. When she looked into Liara's face, her brows were drawn together in concern, her eyes tired. "I'm fine, Liara. No stresses that differ from the typical ones."

Liara didn't seem convinced. She crossed one leg over the other. "I was thinking perhaps we should put our project on hold. Just until the Reaper threat is addressed." Always quick to recover, she added, "Not that it was ever a priority before, of course," before Shepard could respond.

Their plan had been sitting in the back seat for some time now, and Shepard was honestly content enough to stew alone in Javik's transferred memories. Something about knowing that only she and Javik were privy to them pleased her—some secret, greedy, petty portion of her mind that wanted this knowledge all to herself. She wanted Liara to know these memories, though; not all, perhaps—just important things like culture, architecture, and the like—but enough to decently fill a book on the subject of protheans and their ancient lifestyles. "Not on hold," Shepard said finally, shifting as she stood, "but I'll wait until I've collected larger amounts of information before I pass it on to you. Whenever I have time, I'll sit down and write you a detailed message about it."

Liara smiled up at her. "That sounds wonderful."

Shepard smiled back, but it felt forced, and the look of concern that flickered across Liara's features was telling. She suddenly felt the weight of the universe pressing down on her shoulders, as if all of her responsibilities, her decisions—ones she had already made and ones she would still have to make—were just now coming into perspective. She'd always known, always understood just how many people depended on her, but it had been a long time since she had actually stopped and thought about it. It was always on the backburner—always a niggling thought seated comfortably in the dark recesses of her mind—but now that it had been brought to the forefront, she realized she was terrified. Her palms began to sweat.

Liara searched her eyes. She looked like she was about to say something, probably a word of caution or some worried inquiry, so Shepard promptly stuffed the negative emotions back below the thunderclouds of her thoughts and put on a passive face. "Until then," she said carefully, measuring how each word would affect her friend. Liara seemed uneasy but otherwise unoffended.

"Of course, Shepard." She made to stand, nodded, and began to turn around, but then stopped. She hesitated in turning back to Shepard, her mouth half open in unspoken question.

"Liara?"

Liara seemed to steel herself for what was to come next. Delicate lines wrinkled her brow. "Are you...expecting someone? Not that it's any of my business, of course, but you seem...distracted." She fiddled with the smooth edges of her datapad. "I hope that none of our newest crewmates are causing you undue distress." She didn't have to say a name to make it clear who she was referring to.

"Never," Shepard said, perhaps a bit too quickly. She rubbed her slick hands on her pants, a nervous gesture that she hoped Liara had missed. "Kind of the opposite actually."

Before Liara could comment on that—and it _definitely_ looked like she was about to comment on it—the door to Shepard's cabin opened on a whoosh of air that sounded almost deafening in comparison to how quietly they had been talking. Shepard's heart jumped into her throat again and promptly kept itself there this time, pulse thumping hard in her ears as heavy but padded footsteps carried around the corner.

Javik did not even pretend to hide his surprise at seeing Liara and Shepard. He looked both of them over carefully, not saying a word, frozen mid-step. Shepard, in a rare moment of inarticulacy, was unable to find her voice. Liara seemed to be having much the same problem, and from her wide blue eyes, it was obvious that she was certainly not expecting Javik to show up so soon or to walk into her room so comfortably—so _familiarly—_ without so much as a knock or an omni-tool ping.

"Commander," Javik drawled suddenly, his voice heavy and thrumming. "Perhaps I should return another time."

"No," Shepard snapped, surprising just about everyone in the room, space hamster included. She wanted to clap her hands over her mouth and then sink into the floor, but instead she stood straight and formal, folding her arms behind her back. "No, that won't be necessary. Liara and I were just finishing up."

"Yes," Liara agreed, first smiling courteously at Javik and then giving Shepard a curious look. "I was just about to leave." She made to gather her things, seemed to realize that she had only brought her datapad and already had it in her hands, and then brushed past Javik quickly, bidding a hasty goodbye.

And then Javik and Shepard were alone. Javik hadn't moved from where he stood, just around the corner of her foyer.

The fish tank bubbled suddenly, and though it was a noise she was used to, Javik turned, his face now outlined in trembling blue light filtered through the water. "You have fish," he said.

"Several," Shepard replied, glad that the conversation had not turned to what she and Liara had been discussing. She had assumed that her reaction to Javik entering—her quickening heartbeat, the tightness in her chest—was because of adrenaline and fear that Liara might suspect something was _happening_ between Javik and her, but she found that her nerves had not yet calmed. In fact, the longer Javik remained watching her fish swim languidly about their tank, the more she felt her skin grow warm.

"You eat them?"

She blinked. "What?"

"The fish," Javik clarified, turning again to her. "They are kept as livestock? There are not very many of them."

She let out a laugh, and just like that, all nervousness fell away. She moved closer to the tank and put a hand on it, the glass cool against her skin. Javik watched her with open curiosity. "No, they're pets. I keep them for...company."

"They would serve far better as food than _company."_

She smiled, first at the fishtank and then at Javik. His expression didn't change, but his eyes, bright and ochre, stared into hers. "I like them. They're quiet, low-maintenance. Here for me when I want them to be but just part of the scenery when I'd rather not deal with them."

He folded his arms, leaning back slightly. "These fish and your turian friend are similar, then."

Her smile abruptly faded and she walked away from him and the fishtank, descending the stairs to the inner part of her cabin. Her bed was unmade and the duvet ruffled, so she sat instead at her desk, pulling a datapad out from between two others and inspecting it. She had looked at this very same datapad a thousand times—a list of the dogtags she had recovered on Alchera—and she regretted her poor choice immediately. Even if it was just something she wanted to use to appear busy, she would rather not have brought up _those_ memories again. Javik seemed to get the hint that she was both offended by his comment and slightly uncomfortable by his solemn presence, so he cut to the chase.

"It is to my understanding that you are open to criticism."

"Of course. Always."

He said nothing more but descended as she had, his steps falling hard and calculated on each stair. Shepard's back was to him, but she imagined he was now scanning her room, looking from her armor locker to her unmade bed to her muted radio alarm to her, hunched over a lovingly worn datapad. He was quiet for several moments, but she could hear his smooth armor clatter and the fabric of his undersuit rustle as he turned to survey her entire cabin. She wondered suddenly, in a moment of realization, if he was trying to sense who had been in this room for any lengthy amount of time. He would find no one but her, as far as she could recall.

"The turian," he said, and Shepard's body tensed. She could almost feel him staring into the back of her head. If she had been wearing her visor, it surely would be making note of an organic creature in close proximity behind her. Nevertheless, his voice held no hard edge. It was simply questioning; mildly interested. "He stayed here for a time."

"Thanks for the reminder," Shepard mumbled, but if Javik heard, he didn't say anything. "A long time ago," she said louder, glancing at him over her shoulder. He was standing near her armor locker, looking at her bed. "My cabin is open to my crewmates."

"He was here far more than the others," Javik continued, his voice still composed and level. "I can sense him strongly here." _Here,_ of course, referring to her bed.

Shepard wasn't really sure what to say, but she swivelled in her chair to at least face him. He was concentrating now, looking at least slightly unsettled. His voice, however, did not portray any such emotion: "You and he were...joined?"

She stood up angrily, but he seemed entirely unphased by it. "Is that what you came to discuss, Javik?"p>

He scoffed. "No. I was only curious. Interspecies relations not involving protheans were rare in my cycle."

Shepard leaned back against her desk, watching him as he stood at a distance of perhaps seven or eight feet. "Then what do you need? You asked if I was open to criticism, but you haven't given me any. Was that just a question for posterity?"

"Partially," he responded, and his voice seemed to take on a lower timber, the vibrations in his voice flatter and deeper. "I take issue with your newest _recruit,_ Commander."

Legion. Of course he wouldn't be happy with it. He hardly trusted EDI, who had proven her loyalty and ability one hundred times over both in battle and aboard the _Normandy._ "Legion is a trusted ally who helped beat back the Collectors," Shepard said firmly, unwavering under the way that Javik narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. "He also happens to be a close personal friend and a highly capable soldier."

_You neglect to mention he is also geth,_ Javik growled in Prothean, _a member of the AI race that massacred the quarians._ His words upset Shepard enough that she gave him a hard glare and then moved to fold herself gently onto her couch, unwilling to argue a tired topic that she had already discussed to death with just about everyone that met Legion. It felt strange to trust Javik enough in her quarters to not stand stock still and be as formal with him as she usually was, but she blamed it on her fatigue. She had told him she welcomed criticism, and she did. She understood his aversion to AI and she knew that not many people were privy to the details surrounding the geth-quarian conflict, but she felt too exhausted to argue the semantics of it now.

"I appreciate your concern," Shepard said, hiding a groan as all of the day's stresses sank into the cushions beneath her, "and I will always take it into consideration." She looked over at him, saw the way he fidgeted at her new posture—sitting slouched atop her black leather couch with her legs drawn under her—and offered a smile that was faint but real. "I have been through this conversation many times with many people."

He nodded stiffly. He looked put off, almost offended. Whether it was because she wouldn't launch into conversation about Legion or because she hadn't responded in Prothean, she wasn't sure. "I understand, Commander," he said, inclining his head respectfully towards her. "However, there is another matter."

Regretfully, Shepard sat up straight and pulled her legs out so that her feet rested on the floor, giving him her full attention.

He nodded toward her desk. "That datapad you were reviewing earlier. It seemed to hold some significance for you." He must have noticed the stiffening of her limbs, because he took a step closer. "For Alchera."

She did not want to talk about this, and not in the same way she didn't want to talk about Legion. The Legion discussion was tedious, while this was...

She should have just sent him away, told him it was private business, but at the look on his face—the mixture of curiosity and, most surprisingly, concern—she found she couldn't. "A list," she said quietly, resting her arms on her bent knees and looking down at the floor, at her freshly polished boots, "of the casualties aboard the _Normandy_ SR1."

He didn't seem to have much else to say other than a muted and sympathetic, "Ah." He did not say anything else, perhaps waiting for Shepard to elucidate on the contents of the datapad or the events in the blackness of space above Alchera.

"The Collectors attacked," she said, words tumbling from her mouth before she could think more on them. It came so easily with Javik, ever since the very first memory transference, ever since he moved closer to her skin and her mind, leaving a burning trail in the wake of his touch. And in Prothean, the openness was worse. Or, she wondered absently, perhaps that just meant it was better. "There were few survivors. I lost a lot of good men that day."

Javik's eyes turned to her desk and the contents atop it: her ruined N7 helmet, the list of casualties, and and her framed dogtags—the gift from Liara so long ago. "I am also not unfamiliar with loss," he said quietly.

Shepard choked on a strangled noise, and she didn't quite care if Javik noticed. It was not a sob but a cry of frustration, something unbidden that her reflexes had been too late to stop from coming out. "I'm sorry," she said, wanting again to sink into the floor and hide away from the world—the universe. How many more would she lose in the upcoming battles?

"I don't understand," he said smoothly, though the vibrations just under his tone had increased in pitch.

Shepard sighed and rubbed tiredly at her eyes, possibly unconsciously trying to scrub the memory from her brain. Of course he had heard her discomfited noise. Of course. "It's nothing, Javik. Just don't worry about it."

She heard him make a noise of displeasure, and when she again looked up at him, his eyes were narrowed, his arms folded, his entire posture clearly displaying the offense he took to this statement. "Perhaps that is why your civilization has advanced so little," he said, nodding to her as if she were a prime example. "You would rather avoid than teach."

"What _exactly_ am I supposed to teach you about? Human interpersonal cultural cues?"

"You flatter yourself, Commander." He uncrossed his arms in order to give her a calculating look and then stalk across the room, standing now in front of her desk. He touched the battered N7 helmet, a memento mori if one ever existed, while she took only a moment to study the way his shoulders drooped from their once stiff positions. When he spoke again, it was with an undertone of sadness, or of regret. "I care little for either your species as a whole or its individuals. That is not what I was referring to when I told you I did not understand."

She stood now, feeling small and somehow vulnerable in a sitting position while Javik towered over her. Her tone didn't lose its hard edge, but it wavered, unsteady at the possibilities of what his next question might be. "Then what _were_ you referring to?"

He turned to face her then, took one step closer and then another until he was very near—as near as he had been in the war room, almost as near as he'd been when he'd stopped the pain of the Phantom's poison. He hesitated, searching her face: eyes on hers, and then on her lips, and then her cheeks, and then her eyes again. "I don't understand how you are alive."

She had been halfway expecting this inquiry for some time, ever since becoming privy to the knowledge that he had seen her memory of being spaced all that time ago, but it still managed to catch her off guard, and she felt a familiar sting of resentment lance her insides. "That would be a question for the genetically perfect human female," she snapped, not missing the almost imperceptible way his eyes widened at her outburst. She looked away from him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her visibly upset. She didn't think he was intentionally trying to trouble her—honestly, he could be insensitive, but he tended to hold back around her—but it set her on edge nonetheless.

With her eyes set firmly on some point in the room that wasn't Javik and her thoughts racing, she missed his next movement until she felt a light touch on her left forearm. The hair there stood on end and she almost drew away from Javik's gentle fingertips. She looked quickly to him, hoping to catch an explanation from his expression.

His eyes were focused on her, but they weren't hard as they usually were. He looked sympathetic. Compassionate. Shepard swallowed around the lump in her throat. She didn't usually do well in these situations, when others gave her pity, those consoling words "I'm sorry for your loss," or "You're a strong woman, Commander."

Javik said neither of those things, though. Instead he brought his other hand to her other forearm slowly, possibly testing for her reaction. When she didn't react negatively by tearing away from him or berating him or even giving him so much as a pained look, he slid his hands up to her biceps. The exposed skin of his fingers was warm to the touch, and he did not stray from the position they were in. He didn't look stiff or uncomfortable; he looked completely calm, as if he had done this to her a thousand times before.

"Touch," he said, his voice hoarse, vibrations making the ridges at his throat tremble, "was an important part of my culture." His fingers squeezed a bit, and Shepard momentarily forgot to breathe. He had only ever touched her before when it was necessary, or when he was transferring memories—and even then, it had been brief. This was tender, as though he was handling her with the utmost care. Worse still was the knowledge that the entire time he had been in her room, her heart had not stopped hammering.

"We used it like this—" here he rubbed soothing circles into her skin with his thumbs, "—to soothe pain, affirm affections..." He gave her a long look before continuing, and when he did, his voice had lowered considerably into the deep intonations of Prothean. _...Express sympathy._

_You mean pity,_ Shepard said, harsher than she had intended, not caring that she had automatically responded in Prothean. _I don't need sympathy, Javik. I need is someone who will have my back. No matter what._

_You cannot have both?_

She fought hard against her instincts telling her to pull away from Javik's comforting hands, but only because she enjoyed his touch. Despite all she argued, it did work to console her. Her mind was racing with memories of Alchera and all that she had lost, her nerves frazzled both because of Javik's nearness and the forceful dredging up of her painful past. Her hands balled into fists and his grasp on her arms stayed light, perhaps as an indication that he was in no way trying to hold her still—only attempting to communicate his sympathy through touch, as protheans of times long gone had done. _Let me rephrase that,_ she bit, still unwilling to back down and admit that maybe she could use some understanding of her situation. _I don't_ want _it._

He released her instantly but did not back up. His eyes continued to bore into her, bright and reddish-gold in the dim sterilized grey of her cabin. "Then I will not give it to you. But do not mistake it for pity, Commander."At this, Shepard crossed her arms, feeling like she needed some kind of barrier between them.

She didn't speak for a long time, just stood very close to him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest while she assumed he waited for her to say something. Truth be told, she wasn't sure what _to_ say. Here Javik was, openly communicating about himself—about _his culture,_ most importantly—and Shepard was squandering the opportunity. Liara would be so disappointed.

It was different this time, though. He was freely giving her this information, where before she had only seen glimpses of it in secret memories tucked into others that were knowingly given. She had never been good about reciprocating communication regarding _feelings_ and all the like, and perhaps the best example of that was her failed relationship with Garrus. She'd liked him enough, and he made her feel like everything could maybe be okay, but she had been utterly incapable of taking what they had to the next step. She was _still_ incapable of even giving him an explanation as to why she'd been desperately avoiding the subject anyway. Things just kept coming up, distractions just kept pulling them apart, and Garrus was so understanding, so patient, that he just let it go every time.

But Javik was not so patient. He watched her now, as close as Garrus ever had been during those uncertain nights on the _Normandy_ SR2,expecting answers to questions he had so plainly asked.

"I'm not an AI," Shepard said quietly, jerking her head upwards to meet his eyes, a finality in her tone that shocked even herself. It had been a touchy topic that she avoided discussing even to herself from within the privacy of her own mind.

Javik's hands came up again, but instead of resting on her arms or her shoulders or some other neutral part of her body, he put them softly against her cheeks. His thumbs brushed against her cheekbones. He said nothing for a few seconds, seconds that Shepard measured carefully against the beats of her heart. Then: "You are warm."

She knew what he was getting at, but it didn't make it any less surprising. "The hardware for AI can generate artificial body heat," she said, dropping her gaze to where the tunic under his armor clasped just at his clavicle.

"Soft," he supplied, hands slipping down to cup her neck. In any other circumstance, Shepard might have perceived this as a threat, but as it were, she felt at ease under his touch. He would never bring harm to her.

"Artificial skin," she breathed.

He leaned closer to her, so close that she could hear him breathe, pressing the side of his jaw gingerly against her temple. Shepard went stock still, unable or unwilling to process what exactly he was doing. She _felt_ the vibrations from his voice as he spoke.

_You smell alive._

"Cerberus," she gasped suddenly, panicking from his actions, from the pounding in her chest and ears, from what all of this combined implied. He pulled away at the hurried word, taking a cautious step back and giving her a puzzled look. "A pro-human organization rebuilt me," she said, sounding a bit out of breath. "After I was spaced, I landed on Alchera. Liara found me and gave me to Cerberus so that they could bring me back."

He studied her with a measured but distant look, and if Shepard didn't know any better, she might say that he looked vaguely flustered—embarrassed, perhaps. "That does not sound feasible," he admitted, though only moments before he seemed to be convincing her of her own existence as an organic lifeform.

"I know. I had a hard time believing it myself." She clenched and unclenched her fists. "But Cerberus sank a lot of money into the project to rebuild me so that I could go on to become a paragon of humanity— _their_ paragon of humanity." She outstretched her arms, as if displaying herself to him for all that she was worth. "And, well, here I am."

"Then why is Cerberus now our enemy?"

"We had some disagreements."

He seemed to want to hear more about her relationship to Cerberus, but perhaps upon seeing the expression on her face, he didn't continue on that topic. Instead, he spoke with a quiet, subdued voice, his accent thick around heavy words. "I have seen and smelled your blood spilled." He took another step back, creating more distance. "You are human, Shepard."

_Shepard._ Not Commander.

She laughed despite the situation, feeling almost relieved. "Thanks for the confirmation, Javik"

He nodded, looking more uncomfortable than she had seen him in a long time. She was brought suddenly back to his words to her during the geth infiltration mission, and then his actions not more than a few moments ago, how sure of himself he had seemed. He had touched her without hesitation but with ease and familiarity. He touched her as someone would touch a close friend, or even someone who was more.

She cleared her throat suddenly, feeling guilty for letting her thoughts wander to such places. She couldn't deny that she felt attracted to Javik, drawn to him, just as he appeared to be drawn to her. She felt a kinship with him, a fellow commander who had lived and lost all, who was living now only for revenge, for the chance to enact vengeance upon that which had taken everything from him. If she were in his position, she would be doing the same.

He seemed to sense the shift in her thoughts, because he moved his weight from one foot to the other and looked down at his feet, much as he had done on his home planet with Aabim. An act of anxiety, unsurety. Insecurity.

"So now you know," she said, not sure what else she _could_ say in the situation.

"Now I know," he agreed, before unfolding himself and giving her a strange look. "Thank you, Commander, for telling me these things." He paused. "I look forward to speaking more on the matter of your geth friend." And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out, his presence gone completely from her room. She watched his retreating back until he was out the door and around the corner, and she was only mildly disappointed that he hadn't at least commented on her voice-activated comment or even his _touching_ of her.

She collapsed back onto her couch once her cabin door had closed and locked, exhaling a long-suffering sigh. She was exhausted emotionally and physically, and they still had Rannoch to conquer.


	10. Chapter 10

In the precious hours that followed, Javik and Tali seemed to patch up their relationship, if not for Shepard's sake then because neither of them could afford another enemy when the Reapers still breathed heavy on their necks. Shepard had intentionally invited Javik and Tali along on their mission to rescue Admiral Koris and crew, hoping they would at least grow to grudgingly respect each other. Javik had complimented the quarian people's tenacity—"It appears much has changed since my cycle,"—and Tali had acknowledged this, showing that she accepted his unspoken apology by tossing him whatever extra gun upgrades she could salvage.

They rendezvoused with Cortez and the shuttle after scooping Koris from his position, pinned behind some small rocks by a nonstop volley of attacks, and not long after, the admiral was safely aboard the _Normandy._ He remained grateful but ultimately disappointed in himself and his inability to save both his squadron and his son, no matter how much Tali attempted to console him. She'd looked up from his seated form, his cracked and battered mask cradled in his hands, as if to tell Shepard, "This is the suffering of my people." Lids fluttered over her glowing eyes, thin fingers clutching into the fabric of the admiral's suit, before she'd turned away her gaze. Shepard had felt her gut clench until she'd glanced up and seen Javik watching the two with a curious expression. When he realized she'd caught him staring, he'd looked away, feigning interest in a thick rope of cable lining the shuttle's interior.

She had not spoken to Javik since the incident in her cabin, and she had almost been glad for this. She still felt the smallest ache in her chest, though, whenever she remembered his words, the way he had touched her, the look he wore when she told him of Alchera. She stood now at the galaxy map, watching it spin languidly, dimly aware of Traynor's presence beside her but not focusing on her. She watched the mark signifying their current location, a long, thin golden beam, as if the _Normandy_ itself was a small light in the darkness that everyone crowded around, as it hovered in the empty space near Rannoch. She needed to speak with Legion about shutting down remaining geth squadrons, and from what he had told her, she didn't particularly like how it needed to be handled.

She bit the inside of her lip, considering what little he had told her—that she would need to enter the geth consensus and manually destroy code—and wondered only briefly what Javik would think of the idea. He _said_ that he thought she was human, and she believed him, but just how convinced was he? If he saw her integrate herself into a mass network of AI, if he saw her interfacing with billions, trillions, maybe more of synthetic beings in a manner that was not translatable into spoken language, what would he think? Would he change his mind? Would he avoid her again, give her the cold shoulder when she went down to the engineering deck? She glanced down at the hologram of Tikkun, Rannoch's sun, squinting at its bright white light. It shouldn't matter to her either way if he believed she was an AI or not. As long as he had her back and was willing to serve under her, there was no reason to care whether he thought she was organic or synthetic—no reason at all. But she _did_ care...and this fact unsettled her on a fundamental level she couldn't pinpoint.

"Something on your mind?"

Shepard swallowed around a lump in her throat as Garrus approached her from behind. She turned to face him, saw the confident expression on his very alien face and the way he stopped to stand with crossed arms and one hip cocked. "Just the upcoming mission," she answered, partially honestly. "It's going to be...strange."

He laughed under his breath, and Shepard descended the ramp in front of the galaxy map in order to stand on level ground with him. Next to him now, she reached his cheekbones, and he looked down at her, some fire in his eyes that she couldn't put a name to. "You've probably seen stranger," he said, and she nodded her agreement as they began to walk away from the CIC. She let him lead her, and even though she didn't know where he was going or why he had approached her in the first place, she didn't question their ultimate destination. It felt natural to be like this with Garrus, to be walking side-by-side, unsure of what was bound to happen next but convinced that he wouldn't lead her astray. It felt nice to occasionally relinquish leadership to another, even if it was just in this small way.

Garrus spoke in a relatively excited tone as they boarded the elevator, relaying his feelings regarding Tali's appearance on the _Normandy_ and seeing Rannoch. "Drier than Palaven," he admitted, though in an appraising tone, as the elevator sank into the ship. "But ultimately not a bad place to be. Pretty oceans. Although we turians aren't exactly, ah, _partial_ to the water."

Shepard nodded in agreement and then he launched into discussion about Tali's promotion to admiral. He spoke oddly animatedly, as if it were he and not their quarian friend who had recently been delegated to serve as a racial luminary. He spoke about how she had changed and how she hadn't, how she seemed more sure of herself now, how she seemed to have figured out her place in the world. And when Shepard looked up at him inquisitively, just as the elevator arrived at the crew deck, he was staring not at her but at the elevator's control panel, a slight smile gracing his turian features and making his mandibles stretch.

"Garrus," Shepard said, not trying to hide the amusement in her tone.

Garrus stopped speaking, seemed to realize perhaps he was rambling, and then looked mildly embarrassed.

A comforting smile spread across Shepard's face. "I'm happy to see her, too."

The elevator doors opened and rounding the corner led to a discomfiting scene of Javik and Tali sitting at the mess hall table. Seeing them as they were now, talking calmly yet comfortably, was so different from their first encounter—the insults thrown and the hard looks shared—that Shepard almost reeled. They both turned heads toward her and Garrus as they entered, and both Tali and Javik's spines went noticeably stiff.

"Shepard, Garrus," Tali said, motioning toward them with a gloved three-fingered hand. "I was just talking with Javik about my people in his cycle."

"Oh?" Shepard teased, though lightly, as all three aliens in the room took on suspiciously nervous auras. She stood at the head of the table while Garrus made to sit a seat away from Tali. "Do tell."

"Yes," Javik cut in, glancing only once to Garrus before turning his gaze to Shepard. His tense posture belied his blank expression. "Our people clashed many times. Not always violently."

Tali coughed, turning slightly away from Shepard. Garrus looked entertained beyond all reason. "Apparently protheans and quarians occasionally _...coupled."_

Shepard couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips any more than she could help the amusement that bubbled up in her chest. Years of fighting and death had done little to corrupt Tali's innocence.

"They were considered attractive in my time," Javik supplied helpfully, matter-of-factly, as if that shouldn't have been a surprise to any of them. "They somewhat resembled how humans now appear."

The weight—the meaning—behind Javik's words made anything Shepard was about to say die in her throat. Garrus and Tali too became silent, the outline of Tali's eyes behind her cloudy mask wide. Javik seemed to realize what he had said a little too late, because he glanced at Shepard and then at some point to the left and down the hall with the subtlest hint of panic. "Your people were...much hairier back then," he finished, obviously speaking to Shepard, and Shepard supposed she could mark _Make a Prothean Commander Feel Awkward_ down on her list of achievements. Despite the fact that Garrus had not spoken a word, he had a lightness in his eyes that told her just how much fun he was having with all of this.

"Well," Shepard said after a deep intake of breath. "That was very enlightening." She looked over at Javik, who had apparently made it his number one mission to avoid eye contact at all costs, and then at Tali, who was tapping the jaw of her mask curiously, as if to say _You and I will be talking about this later._ "Unfortunately, I have some preparations to make before the next mission."

"You still need to speak with Legion?" Tali asked, effectively switching the conversation to the kind of neutral territory that Shepard felt at ease in.

Shepard answered with a short, "Yep," and at the word, Javik stood and left. He didn't storm off so much as sulk, but it didn't miss the attention of either Garrus or Tali, who watched his back and waited for the sound of the elevator descending to speak.

"I think someone's embarrassed," Garrus drawled, resting his arms on the table.

Tali hummed and glanced slyly at Shepard. "Or maybe he just doesn't want Shepard going off alone with Legion."

"I won't be _alone,"_ Shepard corrected, crossing her arms and giving Tali a confused look. "EDI will be there. Javik's just uncomfortable about the fact that I trust AIs."

"Possibly." Tali turned to look at Garrus now. "But it seems like he's mostly worried about her."

"Definitely not a normal reaction from him," Garrus agreed, with only the barest hint of tightness in his tone. "I don't think he'd care that much if it were me or you going off alone with two AI."

"He might be happy to hear that, in your case," Tali teased.

"I've been watching myself around the airlocks lately."

"Maybe he's just jealous of you."

Shepard chose this moment to cut their conversation short. "You two gossip like old women," she laughed, shaking her head.

Tali shrugged and Garrus mirrored her, though after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, he fidgeted and started with a quiet, "Shepard..."

Tali glanced at him surreptitiously.

"You should go talk to him," he continued, but he sounded cowed, defeated, subvocals flaring and making his voice tinnier than usual. "He's worried."

Shepard shifted her weight, feeling suddenly awkward. "Everyone's worried. We have a big fight ahead of us."

"But he is _especially_ worried, Commander," Tali contributed, the emphasis on "especially" telling in ways that Shepard didn't want to focus on.

Shepard avoided Garrus's gaze entirely as he spoke.

"I have an idea of what he's going through," he said in a quiet tone. "The worry, feeling like there's nothing you can do about it. It's not a nice way to spend a day."

Before Shepard could speak again, either to offer a rebuttal to what Garrus was insinuating—that Javik cared for her beyond her being his superior or his teammate, that he was concerned for her safety far more than he was for the other members of the crew—Legion pinged her omni-tool and sent her a veritable novel of a mission overview. She glanced down at the text for only a moment before giving Tali and Garrus an apologetic look that was met with two unreadable stares. She turned on her heel and walked toward the elevator, feeling their eyes on her back, knowing as soon as she left the room they'd be discussing her and Javik and whatever intricate details of their relationship that they were privy to.

She had never been happier to start arranging a mission pre-briefing.

* * *

"Shepard-Commander," Legion greeted as Shepard entered the war room. He and EDI waited for her there, leaning against the railings near the circular console in the center of the room. On the outside of this console, Tali, Garrus, Kaidan, Liara, James, and Javik stood waiting, knowing they would not be accompanying her on this mission but not wanting to miss out on any important information. Javik stood a bit apart from the group, closer to EDI and Legion than the others. He stared at Shepard as walked toward the group, crest heavy over four bright eyes.

Shepard smiled at Legion and EDI and then brought up her omni-tool, accessing Legion's mission overview. The text floated above her arm and she glanced around to make sure that everyone was in attendance. "This mission is going to be a little bit unorthodox. I haven't really ever done anything like this before. But I believe it's necessary to deactivate the remaining attacking geth planetside."

"We have calculated the risks and have determined that there is a .0000000322 repeating percent chance that you will suffer any injuries from integrating into the geth consensus."

"Essentially, you will not run into any trouble unless you create it for yourself," EDI clarified, looking to Legion and then back to Shepard. "However, I will be monitoring your vital signs while you and Legion work to destroy the malicious code. Should I encounter any abnormalities, I will alert Legion, who will immediately escort you to the 'exit,' so to speak."

_How can you be sure that you will be able to return in time?_

At the sound of Prothean being spoken, the words rolling over deep vibrations, all heads turned to Javik—EDI's and Legion's included. Javik stood unaffected by this, staring past all of the eyes on him and at Shepard. His lips were thin, his jaw tight, his entire posture coiled, as if he were waiting for a chink in the armor of their plan to pounce upon and dissect. It was quite obvious who his question was aimed at, and as Shepard opened her mouth to speak, the eyes turned slowly back to her. In her peripheral vision she caught sight of Garrus, his expression blank but his mandibles stiff and still against his face.

"Legion will ensure that I do," she said simply, quietly.

At the mention of his name, Legion cocked his head and passed his optic quickly over her form. After perhaps a moment of contemplation, he turned to Javik, raising his headflaps in a movement that looked suspiciously defensive. "You are understandably concerned for Shepard-Commander's safety," he offered, and at the slight shifting of Javik's posture, he lowered the flaps again so that they were tight against the rest of his frame. "We will be sure not to route unnecessary detours. We will be as close to the pod as possible at all times should Shepard-Commander need to return."

"You can have faith in what Legion says," EDI contributed, though it didn't seem to do much to assuage Javik. He averted his eyes from both AI and Shepard. The fact that he didn't further question the current plan of action came as a surprise to Shepard, who had at least expected him to continue arguing with her in Prothean. She felt a pleasant warmth blossom in her chest and spread up to her ears. He didn't agree with her, but he did not—would not—disrespect her in front of her crew. Not many months ago, he would have thrown insults at Legion and EDI and then questioned Shepard's leadership skills.

_Thank you,_ she said gently in Prothean, and the only acknowledgment he gave her was his eyes darting to her feet and then back to whatever he had been staring a hole through. Curious gazes bombarded her from all sides, so she quickly moved on, distracting everyone away from the exchange and from her quiet prothean words.

The pre-briefing dragged for twenty arduous minutes, her own information punctuated with Legion's many facts and explanations. She saw her crewmates growing weary and wrapped it up with a nod and a smile to all, dismissing them on few words. "Get some sleep," she said as they began to dissipate and flood out of the room. "After this, we set our sights on Rannoch."

She loitered in the war room for several minutes more, obsessively scanning through Legion's report and worrying herself sick over what she was about to do. She wasn't exactly excited about it, but she would never say no; she trusted EDI and Legion's assurances, and besides that, the geth troops _needed_ to be deactivated. Even the usual crew members that manned the war room were absent, having exited the room to accommodate the large gathering that had amassed. They had yet to return and probably would not for a while longer.

The silence was calming; refreshing. Machines still hummed and consoles still beeped, but there was no sign of organic life that she could tell. For the first time since she had woken up, she was truly alone. Shepard elected to tuck herself against a wall, partially hidden between two large consoles, and continued scrolling through the text Legion had sent her, picking it apart and analyzing each step—especially the parts regarding her targeting and removing the "infected" code. The entire process shouldn't take more than an hour, he said, and she would more than likely gain much greater insight into geth culture and history. That was something to look forward to, at least.

Without warning and with no small amount of displeasure, Shepard heard two sets of approaching footsteps and the clanking of armor. She stayed mostly hidden away, not finding it necessary to reveal herself, and was surprised to recognize Javik's heavy footsteps. That she could pick the sound of his footsteps out came as something of a shock to her, but she attributed it to his shoes; the sound of his padded feet against the cold steel of the _Normandy's_ walkways was distinct.

"We are not at liberty to discuss such things with you," Legion said, his metallic voice filtering to Shepard from across the room. "Shepard-Commander must first provide approval."

"She would approve," Javik growled. "All I ask is for additional information that hasn't been previously given."

"We have no data available on this topic."

Shepard braced herself for an angry outburst, for perhaps Javik to insult Legion, but nothing of the sort came. Instead, there was a lengthy pause, in which neither Javik nor Legion moved. Finally, Legion spoke, but it was subdued, his tone slow and careful.

"We understand your concern for Shepard-Commander. We have only recently posited her interfacing with the geth after several days of consensus-building." He stopped, seemed to wait for Javik to respond, and then continued. "EDI will also be watching over her."

"The commander is not a child," Javik snapped. "She can handle herself. It's not her or her abilities I distrust, it's _you."_ Shepard heard the soft sound of him pacing, his footsteps quiet now. "If harm comes to her—"

"We will accept accountability."

"And I will introduce you to the nearest airlock. Shepard is integral to defeating the Reapers." He stopped, and Shepard held her breath for fear of discovery now. She wasn't so much afraid of being caught accidentally eavesdropping as she was afraid of the embarrassment that would ensue. "Your cycle's chances of victory are pathetic as is. Without Shepard, your fates are sealed, just as my people's were."

"Understood," Legion chirped, and then after several moments of silence—in which Shepard could only assume that Javik nodded dismissively at the AI—Legion's even footsteps signaled that he had taken his leave.

Shepard waited patiently for Javik to follow suit, cramped into a position that was quickly becoming uncomfortable. He didn't leave, though. Instead, he spoke, deep and vibrating sounds of Prothean echoing off of the war room's walls.

_I expect you to survive, Commander._

Shepard stilled. He knew. What had—

_Your pheromones give you away. You are fearful._

Speaking with him, hearing him, when she couldn't see him and when he was not over the comm and overlayed by occasional chatter was unsettling. She clutched the arm with her still-activated omni-tool to her chest, staring at her feet, listening for any further words from him. She wasn't sure what to say. Of course she was afraid; there was no use denying it. Even if he couldn't smell her pheromones and what primal signal they gave, it was still obvious that she was apprehensive about the upcoming mission. Despite Legion and EDI's near-promises of safety, the thought of entering the geth consensus was terrifying-perhaps more terrifying than infiltrating the geth dreadnought. She would almost rather face the Reaper on Tuchanka again.

"You shouldn't have been saying those things to Legion," was all she could manage. "You shouldn't undermine me."

Her response drew a brief but pregnant silence between them. "My threats are not idle." Though he was only just out of eyeshot, he did not approach her, did not make any movement to put her in his field of vision. He seemed perfectly content with talking to her like this—with interacting with just her voice. It almost seemed to create a buffer, allowing his thoughts and emotions easier passage from his mind to hastily formed sentences. "He accepted accountability should you become injured. Protheans do not take responsibility lightly."

"Legion is not my keeper, whether in this world or a virtual one. And I believe it was _you_ who said I can handle myself."

Nothing. Not a word of disagreement. Not a sound of disapproval. Presently, when Shepard almost couldn't bear the silence anymore, Javik left, his padded feet making trailing echoes as he exited the quiet war room.


	11. Chapter 11

Shepard did not receive any special send-off. She boarded the shuttle with just EDI and Legion, who stood cold and stoic at each side of her. It was just another mission, some routine ground trip that garnered no particular attention from any member of her crew. She didn't know what she had expected. Worried goodbyes? Solemn salutes? She was not being sent on a suicide mission. In fact, this was one of the safer missions she had undertaken in the past several years.

Still, as the shuttle's doors closed and Cortez navigated them away from the _Normandy,_ Shepard couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread. Technology mostly escaped her. She understood it as well as she needed to, but she was not Tali. She could not hack a wall safe in five seconds flat. She did not know how quantum entanglement worked. She had a rudimentary knowledge of the basics of mass effect fields. She understood the tools of her trade as much as was strictly necessary.

She looked at Legion and then at EDI, who seemed not to need to hold onto cables as the shuttle rocked and jostled during entry to Rannoch's atmosphere, and felt only marginally better.

* * *

Thin grids of green passed over Shepard's face, and she felt her heartbeat race under the integration process. From within the pod, she felt stifled, as though the digital net molding over her body were smothering her. She looked wildly from the cables leading above her and through the top of the pod to Legion, who stood at a control console just outside, working three-fingered hands over words and symbols that she didn't understand. She looked to EDI, who gave a comforting nod as a jagged pulse line and rapidly changing numbers flashed across a corner of her bright orange visor. They were Shepard's vitals. Having that kind of information blocking her view would usually be dangerous and inadvisable, but here, perhaps knowing by the skyrocketing numbers that Shepard was terrified, EDI was willing to take the chance.

Within seconds she was integrated, and after a small lance of panic at the blackness that fell over her senses, she found herself standing on a steel-grey platform. Beside her, Legion stood, his body not completely whole as it was represented in the virtual world.

"Shepard-Commander," he said, his optic flashing dull over her form. She wondered how he saw her here in this geth-crafted world. Did he see her as she usually was or as a collection of bytes and bits and ones and zeroes, a microscopic blip on the memory radar of the geth consensus? "We are prepared to lead you to the infected code."

Suddenly, a strange gun was in her hand. She looked down at it in confusion, testing the weight and the texture of the trigger. She felt nothing. It was neither heavy nor light. Neither smooth nor rough. It simply _wasn't,_ as if it didn't exist. Similarly, she felt no ground beneath her feet, but she did not feel the sensation of flying or floating, either. She could not feel, smell, or taste this world. For now, she could only see the Legion and the floating platforms around her, the ceiling way above her and the floor way below her and the distance that stretched on forever, and hear the familiar voice beside her explaining the origins of the not-really gun.

"With this, you can eliminate the infected code," he finished, cocking his head to the side and extending a hand toward her, palm-up, possibly as a consoling gesture. Without thinking, Shepard placed her free hand on top of his. It did not offer any give, as a palm usually would, but her hand did not fall through his almost translucent one, either. It was as if their hands interacted mechanically: Two solid objects do not logically pass through each other, but they repel each other on a subatomic level.

Legion's fingers closed delicately around hers, coiled tubing at his wrist acting as organic tendons would by tensing from the movement. She did not feel it. "We will be here to guide you, Shepard-Commander. We will not leave you."

* * *

Shepard's sense of dread eased significantly during her traipse through the geth consensus, but whether that was because her senses were dulled or because she no longer felt threatened by the virtual world, she couldn't be sure. She still felt faint worry plaguing the seas of her subconscious as dark flotsam floating just at the surface—worry for something else relatively distant but too near to feel safe, something she couldn't see and had no way of anticipating. The dread made its appearance only once in a while, making her frown usually after she successfully destroyed a blocky wire of infected code. Even while she watched Legion question his creators and his own existence via holographic memories, she felt its nagging presence, lapping angry and black at the walls of her thoughts. Her heart physically ached for Legion only once, and the feeling gave birth to a crippling fear that she took more than a moment to shake off.

Near the last cluster of infected code, Shepard felt as at home in the geth consensus as she did aboard the _Normandy._ She trusted that the winding platform stairs would continue to appear as she walked, so she stepped with confidence, an extended foot sometimes falling to step onto nothing before a flat block materialized underneath it for support. Legion stayed close but out of sight, though his voice rang through her head clearly and served to beat back the anxiety. His words chased the shadows in her head, and she clung to them as she clung to the virtual gun in her virtual hands. She made quick work of the last bits of infected code, bright and pulsing strings turning black and then still before they fell to ash.

As the final code fell away, Legion's voice faded and she saw a scene from the consensus memory play in the form of greenish holograms. She saw herself, outfitted in her old armor, her hair a bit longer and her bangs a bit different, looking down on the supine form of Legion. She watched her hand reach out to Legion, watched it press into his chest, trace the outline of her N7 badge now welded to him, before she took a step back and Legion began to stir.

"Shepard-Commander," Legion said, his voice sounding far off now. "The access point is now available. We suggest moving toward its location immediately."

* * *

Shepard stumbled from the pod, weak-kneed and slack-jawed, to the sight of a cool-faced EDI and a gathering of large geth primes. The sight of the geth primes barely phased her, and she felt light; flighty; ethereal. To her right, she felt the stirring of air as Legion took a step toward her, and it was almost overwhelming. The geth primes offered their aid against the Reapers as Shepard stood trying to regain her bearings. The air tasted metallic, smelled like the oily whitish innards of geth, and felt oppressive. She only gave a thankful nod to them before straightening and watching them leave the room. She acknowledged the huge asset they would be but felt incapable of thinking further on the subject. After the sensory deprivation, her feelings threatened to drown her, overtaking rationality and clouding her consciousness with loud thoughts and emotions. As EDI and Legion led her out to the shuttle, she thought on Javik and his cool armor, remembered how it felt against her fevered skin. She remembered his warm fingertips on her cheeks, the measured gentleness in his eyes as he convinced her of her humanity. She felt a flood of affection for him and it almost brought her to her knees. At the same time she thought of Garrus and all the time they had previously spent together, hard ridges pressed against the softness of her body, talons digging firm into her sheets as mandibles fluttered against her jaw. She thought of Legion's hand beneath hers and longed to touch him in the real world.

She lowered slowly onto a seat in the shuttle, back stiff and breath panicked, and tried not to make her plight obvious to her two teammates. She heard Legion explain something about the debilitating process of regaining the senses for organics and how it had been anticipated, but she paid no real attention to it. Her attentions returned to fix solidly on Javik, and she found herself fantasizing—actually _fantasizing_ —about how his body would feel pressed against hers as Garrus's had been. The thought of comparing the two repulsed her, but she couldn't stop her pulse from pounding in her ears any more than she could stop the heat that bloomed from the pit of her stomach and dropped straight into the cradle of her thighs. She shifted nervously, uncomfortably, and tried to ignore the vibrations and jostling of the shuttle.

Becoming accustomed again to her senses came slowly, and she attempted—mostly successfully—to push Javik from her thoughts. Instead, though, something much worse filled its place as the shuttle ride dragged on. The fear and anxiety washed over her, immediately dampening her mood and extinguishing whatever warmth still flickered in her belly. It came quickly and without warning and filled her to the brim. The turn in emotions almost made her ill, but she kept it in check, her gaze distant and her knuckles white.

So consumed was she by this black tar of anxiety now coating her veins that she didn't even notice when the shuttle docked in the _Normandy's_ docking bay. EDI and Legion left with only cursory glances at her, leaving her alone and wrapped in her emotions.

It was Cortez who pulled her momentarily free some moments later, his concerned "Shepard?" filling her senses and dispelling the ill feelings. She saw the worry twisting his face as he stood at the open shuttle doors, tools in hand, obviously surprised by her presence as he prepared to perform maintenance checks. "Are you alright?"

Without either the negative or heady emotions, she felt emancipated, unburdened. For now, at least, Cortez's voice had rescued her. "Yeah," she said, smiling faintly. "Just got caught up with my thoughts."

He didn't seem convinced, but he stepped aside and allowed her to exit, never turning his eyes away from her. Her feet sounded loud against the floor of the hangar as she jumped from the shuttle. Before she could sum up the courage to mull on what this intense anxiety meant for her and her crew, she caught a strange sight at one of the two workbenches as she passed them: Javik stood there, fiddling with his rifle, fingers passing over parts with finesse and care that she had witnessed in him only once previously. He did not look up at her, and she did not say anything to him, but as she left, she heard James approach him. "Need any help with that, Javik? I don't think I've ever seen you down here before."

* * *

Shepard avoided contact with all of her crewmates in the time between the end of her last mission and the pre-briefing for the next. She remained mostly cooped in her room, sitting on the edge of her bed and looking again and again at the list of casualties aboard the _Normandy_ SR-1. The pall of fear and dread that wrenched her gut and clouded her thoughts was nowhere near at the level it had been upon leaving the geth consensus, but it was a constant presence nonetheless. She knew deep in the back of her mind, in a place mostly untouched by these dark feelings, that distancing herself was the last thing she should do before such an important mission. Several times Tali had pinged her omni-tool, requesting a short meeting before they descended upon Rannoch and the remaining geth fleets, but Shepard ignored every one of them in favor of memorizing the list of names on the old datapad in her hands. Even Chakwas had sent her a message her two, having been briefed on the consequences of integration previously by Legion, but those went ignored as well.

She was usually good about reigning in her emotions before large missions. She was ever the pillar of strength and stability for her team, showing nothing but calculating indifference when faced with things that would make a lesser person tremble. But for some reason, she was terrified. The worst part was that she didn't know what she was terrified _of._ She was nervous about landing on Rannoch, yes, and of course she was anxious to help recapture Rannoch and possibly broker peace between the geth and quarians, but it was not about that.

Her omni-tool pinged and lit up in red, indicating an emergency message. Hesitating only briefly, she opened the message. Anderson wanted to speak with her. And afterwards, she had a crew to address.

* * *

With precisely the same amount of grace as the night had gone, the morning before Rannoch was upon her. Shepard had pre-briefed her crew with an upright back and a somber tone, her heavy eyes dutifully attempting to hide her roiling emotions. Even Joker had been there, the rim of his SR-2 cap doing nothing to shadow the worried expression on his face. If her unexplained fear and dread hadn't done enough to sour her mood, Javik had apparently taken it upon himself to avoid contact with her at all costs. During the pre-briefing he'd spared her just a momentary glance, eyes devoid of the softness or concern he had been showering her with lately, and he'd only done that much because she had chosen he and Tali to accompany her to the drop.

Tali's presence on the surface of Rannoch was a given, really; the fact that Rannoch was her home planet did wonders to boost her morale and give her a within-reach reason to fight to her last. Not only that, she could act as a diplomatic buffer during times when Shepard needed to communicate effectively, clearly, and quickly with the quarian admirals—a task that was daunting at its best and an absolute nightmare otherwise. Javik was a bit more of a selfish choice, and it was one that she was currently warring with herself over as she struggled to affix her armor and get ready for the ever-looming mission. While Javik certainly complemented her fighting style quite well, often choosing to charge like a vanguard and then feint away at the last moment with a devastating hail of gunfire or a bright-green burst of biotics, the truth was that anyone would have done just as well. James could have shouldered the brunt of the geth attacks and drawn attention away from she and Tali, who were significantly less armored. Liara could have set traps and debilitated their enemies enough for Tali to finish them off or for Shepard to pick them off from on high. Kaidan could have done likewise, though perhaps with a bit more aplomb and distraction. EDI's combat drones combined with Tali's would have razed the battlefield in seconds. And of course, Garrus could have joined her in her game of hide and seek, using Tali's drones as decoys while they systematically scoped and dropped every geth squadron that dared emerge even a headflap from cover.

She chose Javik because she needed him—not for his dark channel, which could infect enemies and draw them screaming and terrified at this foreign biotic assault from their cover, not for his staunchly vicious demeanor both in short- and long-range, and not for his unwavering brilliance in matters of combat tactics and deep understanding of the art of war. No, she needed him for herself. For her nerves. She needed him and his calming, if a bit derisive, chatter over her personal comm channel. She needed his harsh tones of Prothean when he was congratulating her, so unwilling to let others know of his approval that he'd hide it behind a language to which only they were privy. She needed to see the smooth slopes of his red armor in her crosshairs when she scanned the battlefield, the look of determination on his face when she signaled to charge.

She needed him now, when she felt her facade of indifference was straining under the hairline fractures of anxiety and fear. She needed him to keep the pieces firmly together when she felt that she might not be able to.

Shepard clasped the last seals on her armor with a quiet huff of air, looking down at the layers over her body. She felt protected now, shielded from the elements at least partially. They still had an hour or two until they would reach a safe orbital distance from which to launch the shuttle, but she couldn't face her crew in just combat pants and a hoodie again.

She stalled as best she could before she figured she absolutely had to leave the relative safety of her cabin, making her bed—no easy chore in full armor, light though it was—and feeding her fish. She watched them swim toward the flakes of food, trembling lines of blue and white crossing over her light skin, and she remembered how Javik had looked standing in this exact same place. He'd thought they were livestock, kept as animals to be eaten and nothing more, and she remembered, too, the Ferengi Fish he had enjoyed with the rest of his company.

It was this thought, the images of Javik smiling and triumphant among his brothers-in-arms despite the crushing losses they had suffered, that finally pushed her through the doors and into the elevator.

* * *

Shepard purposefully avoided the kitchen, knowing that most of the crew would be gathered there for a last meal before their big mission, and meandered through the CIC toward the war room. Traynor shot her a worried glance that Shepard did not acknowledge with a twinge of guilt, and she was relieved to find the war room empty except for Legion. He stood at the far end of the room, bent over a console, six long fingers tapping rhythmically over a keyboard.

He heard her approach, if the half-second pause in typing said anything, but he did not say anything to her. He never did unless he had some urgent business; he always allowed her to open conversation with him if she needed it, and if she didn't say anything and he didn't have anything to say, he would let the both of them sit together in contented silence.

As it were, she did not have much to say at all. Unfortunately, she also did not have much to _do_ in the war room. She ended up idly and quite lamely scrolling through what resources they had so far recovered on the large console in the center of the room despite the fact that she could do the very same thing from either her omni-tool or the workstation in her quarters. Since the last time she'd checked, they'd gained a few more allies—mostly mercs looking to settle life-debts to her but also a few quarian engineers.

"Legion," Shepard said suddenly, her voice sounding a bit harsher than she had intended. She didn't turn from the large console, but she heard Legion stop typing and imagined that he was now looking at her over his shoulder.

"Yes, Shepard-Commander?"

"What business did you and Javik have yesterday?"

"He had attempted to access more information regarding the upcoming mission to defend Rannoch," Legion said simply, his trilling electronic voice oddly strained. "We informed him that such information was classified unless deemed otherwise."

She was unsure of what to say to that. She had heard almost all of he and Javik's conversation, and there was nothing more to ask. She scrambled for more words, aware that Legion had now turned around and was staring at her stiff back. "How do you feel about the mission?" she asked, feeling rather stupid.

Legion was silent for a few moments before answering, "We do not 'feel,' Shepard-Commander. However, we have calculated that the odds of success are—"

Shepard barked a laugh at this, though it felt too loud and unnecessary. "Don't you know you're never supposed to tell someone their odds? Especially if they're bad." She did not see it, but she imagined he had raised and lowered his headflaps, head turned slightly to one side. She pushed off from the console, stole a glance behind her at him—he did indeed have his head cocked curiously—and then left the war room, feeling more lost than she had during her days on Earth.

* * *

Garrus was waiting for her when she stepped into the elevator, his shining silver armor strapped into place and the targeting circle on his ever-present visor focusing when she stepped inside. "Shepard," he greeted as she made her floor selection: her cabin. "I was hoping to run into you."

She gave him a slight smile, but he must have realized it was hollow, because his brow plates shifted into what she had come to realize was a turian frown. "What's up? Have questions about the mission?"

"Not particularly." He shifted his weight as the elevator rose. "I do have some questions about _you,_ though."

"Okay." She pretended to not know what he was talking about, and when he dipped his head so that he could look at her eyes under the dark fringe of her bangs, she pretended he couldn't see right through her. "Ask away."

"Is everything alright?"

"I have my worries about Rannoch, but if we just stay to the plan and are careful, it should go off well."

"No, Shepard, with you." The elevator reached the top floor of the ship, and Shepard exited, Garrus at her heels. "No one has seen you for hours." He continued to speak to her even as she keyed in the passcode for her cabin door. "And before the pre-briefing, no one could come in contact with you."

She walked inside and he followed closely, not even bothering to ask permission. His heavy boots clanked against the steel floor, the sound acting as a harsh contrast to the soft bubbling of her fishtank. "You're obviously upset, but you weren't like this before the geth mission. What happened there?"

Garrus's presence in her room felt uncomfortably familiar. Shepard milled around by her work desk, desperately trying to wrack her brain for a reason to escape from the conversation. Maybe she had forgotten some mission reports? She shuffled through a stack of datapads, aware that Garrus was patiently expecting an answer, aware that he probably felt just as strange being in her room again as she did, aware that the weight of dread in her gut was now so pronounced that it was like her entire center of gravity had shifted. The datapads activated and glowed blue—and some older ones orange—as she touched and then set them aside.

"Shepard," Garrus insisted, slightly exasperated. His eyes burned into the side of her head, cold and blue and calculating. When she still didn't answer, he moved purposefully toward her and put a gloved hand on her upper arm, starting with a "You—" before Shepard tore from his grasp to stare up at his set features.

His expression softened, the hurt there obvious for only a moment, but he covered it quickly enough. "You can talk to me," he finished. "You can tell me if something's bothering you. You've known me long enough now to trust me."

He looked stiff now, his posture pulled tight and his limbs firmly by his sides. Even his back was straight, looking more like he was addressing a C-Sec superior than a trusted friend. Guilt added to the stew of emotions roiling in her stomach, and her resolve swiftly crumbled. "I'm sorry." Her body sagged against the desk she'd been leaning against. "I'm sorry, Garrus. I've been on edge."

"I noticed."

She let herself smile and laugh softly. "Yeah. I shouldn't have been avoiding everyone, but things have been...stressful."

"Javik?"

She gave him an odd look at this, but her unspoken question was not answered. Garrus's face remained stony. "No, he has nothing to do with it. I've just had this weird feeling of dread. Like I know something bad is going to happen, and soon, but I don't know exactly what or when."

"I'd think that's pretty normal," he said, moving so that he could lean against a wall, positioning himself a bit closer to her. "We're about to retake Rannoch, none of the races can get along, and we're fighting an impossible war."

"Near-impossible," she corrected, the words turning to ash in her mouth.

His mandibles stretched into a small smile. "Right," he said wryly. "Point is, being worried is kind of part of the territory."

"I don't know. This isn't normal worry. It's more oppressive somehow."

"Like a physical pressure," he said, causing her to look up at him in question. "I, uh, may know what you're talking about. I felt sort of the same on Omega, before...well." He cleared his throat. He still wasn't able to talk about Omega without looking at the ground. "You know the rest."

"Yeah." She allowed the silence to stretch between them for a few moments, unsure of what to say in the wake of Garrus's confession. Shepard did not have a superstitious bone in her body, but knowing that Garrus had felt the same dread before the Omega incident did not soothe her frothing emotions in the least. Perhaps it was some instinct all the good soldiers shared, some gut feeling that something was going to go horribly wrong before it actually did. In that moment, Shepard was very glad that she had decided on taking Javik on the mission. She looked up at him, but his eyes were elsewhere, not focusing on anything in the room. She spoke quietly. "Hey."

His eyes snapped to her, very obviously pulling himself away from his thoughts.

She punched him lightly, barely more than a brush of her knuckles against his plated shoulder. "I'll be careful out there. We all will. I promise."

Garrus pushed off of the wall and took a shuffling step backwards, toward her door. "I'll let you get ready, Shepard," he said, despite the fact that Shepard was already fully outfitted in her armor. "And I'll be holding you to that promise."


	12. Chapter 12

The shuttle jostled violently as it entered Rannoch's atmosphere for perhaps the fourth time in Shepard's life, the jerking movements now so familiar that she didn't so much as blink. She swayed with Javik and Tali, who both stood staring out windows and holding onto support cables. The rocking motions did absolutely nothing to distract her from the dread crawling up the back of her throat and clenching claws around her lungs.

"Can I ask you a question, Javik?" Her voice sounded distant.

Javik had not looked at her the entire ride, and now was no exception. He remained staring reticently out the window as thin upper atmosphere clouds rushed past. "Commander?"

"When you knew you were going into battle soon, did you or your people ever have the feeling that you _knew_ something bad was going to happen soon?"

"'Something bad' always happens in battle. It is a fact of wartime."

"No. I mean that you knew. That you weren't just scared, but that you actually _knew."_

Tali looked concerned through the clouded glass of her mask, her glowing eyes shaped into worried slits. "Shepard—"

"Are you asking if my people could see into the future?" Javik snapped, finally turning to look at her but only so that he could glare.

"You know I'm not."

He scoffed and turned back to his previous position, staring out the window and away from her, settling his shoulder against the side of the shuttle and readjusting his grip on the support cable. "If we could accurately predict events, I would not be here today."

"My people have a word for that," Tali immediately cut in, perhaps in an effort to ease the tension in the air. "We call it 'stomach fear.' It's the feeling of terror that precedes an unexpected disaster, like the destruction of a ship or the death of a loved one. A lot of texts mention it being reported by prominent generals right before the geth rebelled and took Rannoch." She gave a timid, unsure laugh at this, shaking her her head. "But-but those are just tall tales, Shepard. People like to think tragedies could have been avoided or anticipated when they really couldn't have. You're probably just feeling nervous about the war and it's only now catching up to you."

Shepard smiled at her feet and then at Tali. "You're right. But it's good to have that confirmation."

The outline of a smile graced Tali's obscured face. "Any time, Shepard."

The shuttle gave a final jerk as it was brought to a halt in front of the dropoff platform, and Cortez shouted something incoherent behind the roar of the shuttle's thrusters as its doors opened to a warm, breezy mid-afternoon on Rannoch. Shepard stood and walked to the doors, giving Tali a solemn nod as she did.

* * *

Immediately upon exiting the shuttle, two very important things happened: One, the geth were upon Shepard and her team; two, the inky tar of terror in Shepard's belly roared viciously to life. Tali dove behind a coil of thick steel tubing to the left and Javik joined her shortly, his bulky armored frame barely leaving them enough room to take refuge from the hail of gunfire. Tali's worried "Shepard!" and angry talking noises that sounded vaguely Prothean and growly erupted in her comm at the same time that her shields fizzled and then dropped. She rolled behind an overturned console just as a few well-aimed shots from a geth prime sailed past her head, wishing for once since she'd become a commander that she could shut off her private comm channel.

_Foolish,_ Javik shouted in Prothean while he grunted and did his best to lean out of cover and shoot, _stubborn, arrogant woman. Do you think yourself indestructible?_ The warbling sound of his biotics lifting a few geth from their covers so that Tali's drone could take care of them punctuated his sentences. _Do you want to die?_

"I know what I'm doing," she snapped, taking down an approaching geth fighter and then ejecting a spent thermal clip, where it bounced off of her boot with a sizzle. She heard Javik growl from where he now sat alone, Tali having moved to find cover further away from the epicenter of the firefight, but that was the last sound of dissent she heard from him for the moment. The three of them dispatched the fighters quickly enough, and they moved on down the slope of a hill toward a large blast door at the bottom.

As luck would have it, just as they approached, it closed, and several more geth troops filtered in and around them. Tali cursed under her breath and moved behind a steel crate. Shepard and Javik seemed to have the same idea, because they both vaulted over a low wall and behind it, landing on the other side at exactly the same time and knocking their armor together so hard that it made Shepard's teeth rattle.

"Commander," Javik began, his voice tight with the strain of not losing his temper and berating her right there in front of five geth and one quarian admiral, "this is not the best cover for a long-range—"

"I'm not using my rifle." Shepard waved her pistol for emphasis, agitated at their poor unit cohesion and at his sudden refusal to speak familiarly with her. "There's no place for me to settle in and snipe. Just try to avoid me when possible; close-range isn't my forte." At this, Javik lobbed a lift grenade toward a pair of oncoming geth, jaw clenched, and watched as Tali disposed of the helplessly floating enemies. He seemed not to want to argue or otherwise chide her, because he focused his attention completely on what was happening over the low wall—as he should, Shepard reminded herself. But usually he looked relatively calm during battles, as though he had more important things to focus on than the poor excuses for soldiers he faced.

"Not that you haven't been doing that for the past two days already," Shepard said without even processing what this sentence was and why she shouldn't say it, landing a headshot on a geth who had wandered too far out of cover. Congruent with the pattern as of late, she immediately regretted her words—even more so when Javik turned to look at her with a hard expression, the smooth armor plates on his right arm scraping loudly against the kevlar on her left one. Their cover was not very large, and they had to stay pressed uncomfortably close together in order to stay completely out of the path of fire.

He looked down at where their arms and bent knees were touching, frowned, and then said, "If I could avoid you, Shepard, I would."

She tore from the cover without so much as a word, sidestepping as peppered gunfire crackled into her shields and wore them down. She heard the sharp buzz of electricity as her shields dropped for the second time since she'd landed on Rannoch, and she took cover quickly behind a large overturned turbine of some sort.

"Shepard, what the hell are you doing?" Tali hissed immediately over the communicator, her accent making her words sound even sharper than they were.

"Finding new cover."

"You could have died! Your shields were down!"

"I was fine, Tali."

"But Shepard—"

"I was _fine,"_ Shepard insisted, incinerating a geth rocket trooper who passed too near her. It did not drop from the pain of being burned, but it did hesitate long enough for her to blow off the arm holding the rocket launcher. Javik's pulse rifle burned bright green holes through whatever was left of the synthetic.

Legion's voice came over her comm channel and Shepard felt her spirits lift. "Shepard-Commander, are you in need of assistance?" He informed them of where they needed to go and how to get there, and then said he would search for transport.

As they continued the firefight, dispatching geth after geth and fumbling to insert heat sink after heat sink, Shepard's blind courage and arguably foolhardy risk-taking only worsened. She darted out from cover, drew the attention of rocket troopers and geth prime alike, and even meleed a couple of soldiers, all to the intense displeasure of Tali and Javik. Tali consistently voiced her worry over the comm and Javik simply sat and seethed, his anger visible by the tense lines of his shoulders and—most surprisingly—his faltering aim. Once, when Shepard's arm had been caught by a geth prime as she was trying to escape from close combat, Javik had actually _missed_ his biotic throw.

Shepard stumbled toward him, her arm aching from where the geth had jerked it backwards, toward his relative safety behind a cluster of servers in various states of disrepair. She collapsed heavily beside him, gasping for air while her heart hammered, and breathed, "You missed."

He shot her a nasty look, all four eyes narrowed and burning gold, lips pulled back around sharp, thin teeth. "Do all human commanders have a deathwish, or is it just you?"

"I like to think I'm unique."

He continued to glare in spite of her facetious comment, rifle gripped tightly and his back pressed firmly against cover. "I have seen men die for lesser mistakes, Commander." His jaw twitched and he looked away. _Perhaps you should keep your attention on the enemy instead of elsewhere._

Tali gave a loud shout of pain and Shepard and Javik's heads immediately snapped toward the source of the noise. Tali limped favoring her right leg away from a geth hunter, who had just materialized and was quickly gaining on her. Shepard immediately sprang into action, shooting to draw its attention while Javik rushed to help Tali get into a safe position to apply medi-gel. The hunter turned toward Shepard, its optic bright and calculating as it scanned over her figure, and then aimed its rifle. It fired too late as Shepard activated her tactical cloak and crept behind it, watching it scan the battlefield in open confusion. The omni-blade unfolded as she approached its back, and she shoved it through the geth's spine, pulling a handful of wires in her fist upon removing the blade. White oil splattered her left arm up to the elbow, mocking the taint of organic blood.

"Tali," Shepard said over the comm, looking around the battlefield—at the inactive geth units lying still and broken on the floor—as her cloak fell away, "what's your position?"

"Behind the servers," Tali gasped, voice strained.

Shepard moved toward the servers immediately, noting that for the time being, there were no more geth. "Are you hurt?"

"She will be fine," Javik's voice replied. "But she cannot fight."

"Was her suit ruptured?"

"No," came Tali's voice, frantic. "And I can still fight, Shepard. This is my home. I belong here!" Her voice over the comm blended with her physical voice as Shepard neared where she and Javik took refuge. At her approach, both Javik and Tali looked up at her, at the oily white stains on her armor.

"Don't send me back," Tali pleaded as Javik held her left leg straight and level. "I'll be fine. I-I just need to rest for a second, Shepard—"

"She will hinder us," Javik said simply, quietly.

"Don't talk as if I'm not here!"

" _You will hinder us,"_ he repeated firmly, staring straight into her mask.

Shepard knelt beside them, surveying the leg that Javik held aloft and listening to the high-pitched whirring of Tali's suit as it administered what she could only assume were antibiotics and painkillers. Tali watched her, milky eyes wide behind the purple facade of her mask, limbs trembling either from pain or from fear that she'd be dismissed to the _Normandy._ Javik watched Shepard now, too, his expression seeming bored but his eyes wholly betraying this. They were hard, focused, waiting for her to make another stupid mistake. "You need medical attention," Shepard said finally, slowly. Tali started shaking her head, but before she could open her mouth to speak, a familiar and not unwelcome voice cut her off.

"We have acquired transport," Legion said over the comm.

"And _we_ are ready when you are," Joker butt in, his voice light and joking but undertoned by a telling tightness. At his voice, Shepard reached behind her to touch the laser targeting system strapped to her back, reassuring herself that it was still there.

Shepard nodded at Javik, who helped Tali to her feet and then assisted her in hobbling off toward where a geth vehicle manned by Legion was racing toward them. As the three of them rendezvoused, Shepard moved toward their ultimate destination: a deep pit in the ground about to be targeted and hopefully destroyed by the _Normandy._ She tried not to think on Javik's words as she approached it—perhaps she did need to draw her attention away from all of her auxiliary distractions—and pulled the targeting device from her back, readying the lasers and steadying her feet for impact.

* * *

From the bowels of Rannoch climbed a trembling, jerking Reaper, its movements spider-like as it rose from its tomb. Shepard watched more out of morbid fascination than anything as it righted itself, as its large red eye whined to life and then glowed red, bringing more mobility into its limbs. Its tapered point reached up toward the sky, up toward where the geth and quarians were still fighting. When it finally found stable purchase, it let out a long, mournful bellow that chilled Shepard's veins.

She heard someone shouting behind her as the Reaper turned its attention toward her. It towered above her like any building on the Citadel despite its distance, its sides sleek and smooth but dotted with dust and debris from its ascent to the earth. She felt as though she were being stared at, the Reaper's red eye focusing on her and then glowing brighter, and before she knew what she was doing, she had turned around and run in the opposite direction.

She ran toward the vehicle that Legion had brought around, toward Tali lying helpless inside and Legion at the controls, toward Javik who was heading toward her even as she retreated. He reached her in seconds, barrelling gracelessly and bodily into her and then seizing her by her arm stained white with geth fluids. "What are you doing?" he shouted, words thick with accent and panic, but only when they had continued to run as fast as their legs would carry them toward Legion and Tali and their only escape. Shepard heard the Reaper's beam discharge and cut black marrs into the ground, racing toward them, and she was suddenly and painfully reminded of Javik and Aabim trying to escape from a similar fate. She felt herself begin to trip as a loose rock caused her leg to buckle, but Javik's grip had never yielded on her arm, and he dragged her stumbling body forward until she could manage to find her footing again. She did not want to see what expression Javik wore now, even as his much faster pace forced her to feet to pound against Rannoch's dirt in tandem with the pounding of her heart.

They leapt into the geth vehicle and Legion took off, the Reaper's beam leaving a strip of angry black where they had once idled. Shepard said nothing to anyone but climbed to the top of the vehicle where a turret was perched. Not too far in the distance, the Reaper loomed. It took a step toward them, crying out to a sky red with the fire of war. Shepard put sweating palms on the mounted gun as it warmed, shook, and fired at the Reaper. The great being advanced on them, shrugging off the gunfire, its wide round eye trained on the tiny vehicle that Legion desperately piloted away. The presence of the laser targeting system remained heavy on her back.

Joker's voice came in clear over the comm channel. "Shepard, what the hell is going on down there?"

She took a few more shots at the Reaper, but its steps did not even falter. She saw Rannoch reflected in its eye, tinted crimson.

"I have to fight it," she said, more to herself than anything. "I have to fight it." She began to climb back down the ladder to the inside of the vehicle, earning a startled look from Javik and a groaned "Shepard?" from Tali.

"Legion, stop here!"

"Shepard-Commander?"

"Stop. I'm getting out."

Javik's expression had never been more open than in that moment. The panic that raced across it, the rage, the fear, manifested visceral and feral. He looked about to speak, but Tali cut him off, even as Legion began to slow to a halt. "Shepard, you don't want to do this," she said, her voice pained, terrified.

Shepard took the targeting device off of her back and held it as Legion tapped a few buttons. The door opened with a soft whoosh of air. Sunset filled the cabin and painted Shepard's face in hues of orange and pink. She had expected Javik to speak—to say goodbye, maybe, or demand he come along, but he said nothing. He only stared with a stunned, horrified expression as she lifted a foot to step outside.

Before she could leave the vehicle for good, she felt something grab her arm in a vice grip. She turned to face Javik, closer than she remembered, hand firmly clutching her forearm and lips pressed tightly together. His face was guarded again, features strained and jaw clenched, but still he said nothing. He nodded at her firmly, stiffly, looked as if he were about to reach out his other hand to grab hold of her, but then relinquished his grip and took a step back.

Shepard looked over his face without restraint, eyebrows upturned and eyes wide. She saw some flicker of emotion there, but it was smothered before it could come to a head.

"Stay safe," she whispered, glancing around the vehicle at the friends being left behind before stepping outside and facing down the Reaper.

Running toward a Reaper was probably the last thing Shepard ever thought she would do, but here she was, determination moving her feet forward and callow bravery keeping her from turning back. The Reaper stopped chasing Legion as soon as it noticed she had approached, and it advanced on her instead, moving toward where she skidded to a stop atop a cliff.

Shepard aligned the targeting system with its eye, grinding her teeth, waiting for it to calibrate, before shouting, "Now!" over the comm relaying directly to the quarian destroyer. Without a hitch, the cannon fired, and the Reaper stumbled. Joker yelled at her over the comm, called her an idiot, asked her what she thought she was doing, but Shepard ignored him, lining up another strike. The Reaper's beam passed just over her head, and she felt its heat sear a couple strands of hair, but she held the targeting device still while it calibrated and then gave the signal when it finished.

This time the Reaper fell and its red eye blinked black. As before, though, it rose again, a phoenix rising, its eye glowing hot and bright before discharging. Shepard waited with her heart in her throat and her lungs burning for the targeting system to recharge. Twice more she signaled for the destroyer to fire, and twice more the Reaper fell, returning each time closer than before until it was nearly right on top of her.

If this last hit didn't knock it down for good, she didn't think she'd be going back.

She saw the Reaper's eye glow slowly, saw each individual thread of jagged electricity cover its injured parts, felt the vibration of the targeting system in her hands as the target was pinpointed. The beam began to rush toward her, cutting hot lines in the dirt to her side, but before it could hit its mark, the quarian ships fired. It listed heavily to the side this time, fell, tried to rise again, but then remained still.

The targeting system fell from her hands and clattered heavily to the floor. Joker whooped a victory call over the comm, but the ringing of blood deafened her ears. The muscles in her calves ached from running and dodging the Reaper's attack, and her chest heaved with each labored breath. With quaking limbs, Shepard approached the edge of the cliff to look out over the ruined behemoth.

A moment or two passed before the Reaper stirred, the gears controlling its eye socket whining before artificial lids pulled back and Shepard was bathed in a red glow. It stared at her, unblinking and harmless now, the red glow dying with each passing moment. Behind her, she heard the sound of Legion's geth vehicle, presumably doubling back once it realized that the Reaper was no longer a threat. It stopped, and someone jumped out, moving with slow and heavy steps toward her. Shepard glanced to the side and saw Tali, leaning on her uninjured leg, eyes wide as she stared in open fascination at the dying Reaper.

And then it spoke.

* * *

Only a moment's worth of praise and celebration was afforded Shepard after the Reaper went silent for good. "We did it," Tali breathed, shaking her head. "We destroyed a Reaper." Several voices over the communicator echoed Tali's sentiments, expressing equal parts disbelief and joy. From somewhere not too far behind her, Legion added, "We can confirm that the geth are no longer being guided by the Old Machine." And in all of this, in hearing the celebratory words of her friends and allies, Shepard wondered where Javik was and why he, of all people, was not also marveling at their small victory.

Legion appeared pensive as he approached her and Tali, his optic bright but the mechanical flaps on his head tight against his body. "Shepard-Commander, the geth only acted in defense after the creators attacked." There was a pleading in his voice that made Shepard's heart ache despite all that they had just accomplished. "Do we deserve death?"

"What are you suggesting?" Shepard asked, turning, and the dead Reaper crackled with leftover energy behind her. At her side, Tali appeared nervous as Legion walked toward the edge of the cliff, looking out at the landscape of Rannoch, at the defeated Old Machine.

"Our upgrades," Legion clarified, walking with purpose now, still approaching the cliff's edge. "With the Old Machine dead, we could upload them to all geth without sacrificing their independence."

Tali spoke almost immediately, her voice no longer awed or relieved but anxious, desperate. "You want to upload the Reaper code? That would make the geth as smart as when it was controlling them!"

In the span of what felt like a second, Legion explained with a strange tone in his synthetic voice that the code would make the geth individuals, that they would be able to help in the fight against the Reapers. Tali mentioned her people, the war currently raging above them, and the repercussions of this action. Tali's mask was as fogged as it always had been, but Shepard could swear she could see pain, grief, and fear twist Tali's features. The outlines of her eyes were narrowed, her hands balled into tight fists. The feeling of dread in Shepard's gut had been temporarily subdued, but it returned in full swing at seeing Tali.

Shepard turned the decision over and over again in her head, trying to make sense of it, wondering if the geth really would help, wondering how many quarians would die if the code was uploaded. She wanted to make the rational decision—who was more valuable against the Reapers, the geth or the quarians?—but with Legion and Tali both staring at her expectantly, she found it almost impossible. These were two of her closest friends, and choosing coldly, logically, without a shred of emotion, would be nigh impossible.

She began to speak, her eyes drawn to red crackles of energy still rippling occasionally over the dead Reaper, but Legion cut her off at the jump.

"Do you remember the question that caused the creators to attack us, Tali'Zorah?"

Tali was strangely silent at this, drawing her shoulders back and straightening. Tali may not have, but Shepard certainly did, and as Legion turned to face the two of them, the N7 armor on his shoulder displayed proudly like a badge of courage, Shepard made her decision.

"'Does this unit have a soul?'"

She didn't even hesitate. "Upload the code to the geth." Tali made a startled movement beside her, but Shepard didn't take her eyes off of Legion. Legion stared straight back, his optic growing brighter and then darting in quick motions over Shepard's face, to the white geth oil still staining her arm and then back. Maybe he was reassuring himself that she had indeed given him the go-ahead. Maybe he was coming to a consensus with the other geth platforms within him. Or maybe she'd never really know.

Tali put a distressed hand on her face just as Shepard turned to her. "Tali, call off the fleet if you can." She wanted to say many more—"I'm sorry," "Forgive me," "Please understand,"—but for now, this was all that she could manage.

Legion turned away from the two of them again and a spherical blue hologram materialized between his outstretched hands. He turned it over, analyzing it, his body rigid but his hands and fingertips fluid and deft. He knew exactly what he was doing, had probably played this very same scenario out over and over again in his head. "Uploading. Ten percent." As Legion continued to upload, Tali frantically ordered the quarian fleet to retreat. Han'Gerrel undermined her vocally and quite insistently, and Shepard kept her eyes firmly on Legion's back. She didn't attempt to tune out the argument between Tali and Admiral Han'Gerrel; she knew that the fleet would not turn back.

When it became clear that Han'Gerrel was not going to listen to reason, and when Legion announced that the upload was at twenty percent, Tali rushed to Legion and Shepard as fast as her injured leg would carry her, her omni-tool still active. "Please," she said hurriedly, the pain in her voice so unabashed that Shepard had to hold back a cringe with all of her will. "I beg you. Don't do this."

"We regret the deaths of the creators," Legion said quietly, and Shepard was only mildly startled to realize that Tali had been speaking to Legion and not her, "but we see no alternative." He continued his hand movements on the floating sphere, turning it back and forth, studying it carefully. "Forty percent." The omni-tool on Tali's arm disappeared in a whir of orange. She looked to Shepard, the person who was probably the last hope for her and her people.

"I'm sorry," Shepard finally said.

Tali's quiet sob tugged violently at her heart. "No..."

Legion suddenly stopped, the blue sphere disappearing. "Error, copying code is insufficient. Direct personality dissemination required." He turned slowly to her, his optic dim. "Shepard-Commander."

She didn't know exactly what was coming next, but she didn't like it. The dread making her stomach turn heaved violently, making her bite her lip. The tubes and wiring inside of Legion's chest almost hummed as they frantically worked, the lights there and on his head becoming brighter than she'd ever seen them. It was pride. For himself, for his people, for Shepard's ultimate decision.

"I must go to them," he continued. _I,_ not we. It was so tragic, these circumstances, the quarians dying and Legion becoming himself only to give it all away, that she could hardly keep herself from just crumpling to the ground and putting her head between her knees. "It's the only way."

She wanted to reach out to him, wanted to grab Tali, too, but she found she couldn't move from where she stood.

Legion turned away from her, looking down. "Thank you." There was the sound of an electrical current being cut short, just a faint, sedated buzz, and then he fell to his knees. When he at last dropped to his side and his optic dimmed and then shut off, Shepard allowed for a strangled, quiet cry of grief. Her stomach heaved again. She had sacrificed an entire fleet of quarian, and now she had lost Legion. He may have been a being of artificial intelligence, but he was as valid a person to her as she herself was.

Han'Gerrel's voice cut abrasively through both Shepard and Tali's communicators: "What the hell was that?" The sounds of gunfire and panicked voices filtered over the comms, overlayed with static. Tali looked at her omni-tool helplessly, one hand clutched to her head. Her breathing was fast and shallow.

Shepard did not turn away, and she did not attempt to ignore the sounds of Tali's people being massacred. She deserved to be witness to this. She deserved to see the full repercussions of her decision.

From the sky, dots of fire began to rain down slowly, pieces of quarian ships burning in Rannoch's atmosphere. Some sad, sick place in Shepard's mind told her that at least they would all be returning to their homeland.

A quarian captain sent out a frantic distress call as Tali watched the destruction, her body trembling, her back to Shepard. She lifted her head to the sky, watched as the sky of her homeland lit bright orange from the fire of falling gunships.

Again, Shepard was at a loss for words. She, too, watched the devastation, her visor whirring and focusing on chunks of debris, helpfully labeling the falling wreckage: non-organic metallic, non-organic silicon, organic carbon-based. The guns at her back felt heavy. One last time, perhaps in an act of defiance, the inert Reaper discharged a red wave of energy over its collapsed parts.

Shepard heard a soft release of air and a click, and she looked at Tali, watched as she removed her mask. A protest rose up in her throat but then died as Tali turned to face her, perched precariously at the edge of the cliff. Rannoch's water rushed and churned violent and blue behind her.

She was more human-like than Shepard could ever have imagined, and her expression was no exception to this. Her pale lips were drawn tight together and her brow wrinkled from grief. There were dark lines on her forehead and neck—veins, perhaps, or possibly some component of her suit—and her eyes glowed milky and lambent, but other than that, the shoulders-up portrait that stood in front of Shepard now appeared as human as she did.

Tali said not a word. She closed her eyes, the light of them still burning from under her lashes. Her dark hair came loose as her hood slipped from her head. She looked at peace; at home.

And then she began to fall.

All at once Shepard regained control of her limbs. She dashed forward, shouting "Tali!" on a breath. She watched Tali—her friend, her trusted companion—fall down, down toward the angry sea.

She came to the edge of the cliff too late, throwing her arms over it and reaching toward the jagged rocks at the base. Half of her body was over the ledge and the other half was on solid ground, toes of her boots digging deeply into the dirt. She felt her footing give way slightly, and remembering herself and her mission, withdrew. The water crested white and then splashed over the rocks, but Tali—alive or otherwise—was nowhere in sight. Slowly, she inched away from the edge, drawing her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs. It was difficult to do so with her bulky armor and her heavy utility belt making her midsection thick, but it was a comforting action, mimicking the countless nights she'd spent just like this, alone and hungry on Earth. She steadied her breathing, her visor flashing orange indications of an elevated heartbeat. Her insides churned so frantically that she thought she might vomit. She wanted to peek back over the ledge and scan what she could for life signs, but she was terrified of what she thought she might find. No, of what she knew she _wouldn't_ find.

She sat like this for a long time, ruined quarian ships falling to the ground, Legion lying inactive behind her and Tali's body somewhere lost at sea. Behind her, the dead Reaper groaned as one of its support structures gave way and it collapsed completely in on itself. The sky was almost completely red now, bright with the weight and consequences of her decisions.

She had lost both of them. In less than ten minutes, Legion and Tali had completely disappeared from her life.

She heard someone approaching from behind her, and her visor sprang to life after having gone into standby, alerting her that it was a non-organic sentient lifeform. Shepard did not turn as the geth approached closer, its footsteps loud and purposeful. It stopped suddenly—195.072 centimeters away, her visor told her—and only then did Shepard stand, not wanting to display any more weakness to anyone.

"Commander, your actions enabled this upgrade." It sounded similar to Legion, but not quite; its voice was deeper, more formal. "Because of you, we are a people. And we are free."

She almost didn't want to ask, but she knew the question would nag her in the quiet hours of the night if she didn't. She watched the geth over her shoulder. It—he, maybe she—was huge, maybe one and a half Legion's size, and was painted red and gold. Its optic was a triangle of small blue dots of lights, its hood much thicker than an average geth soldier's. It was a geth prime. In any normal situation, the proximity of this geth would have made Shepard go into panic mode, and she'd activate her cloak and skulk away, but now, she only felt the cold grip of loss. It seemed to anticipate what she was going to ask next, because it tilted its head to the side and flashed its optic. Shepard glanced down at the glowing tubes adorning its midsection. "And...Legion?"

Its headflaps fluttered gently, possibly in sympathy, possibly in grief over losing one of its own. "Dead." The word sent a chill down her spine. "I am sorry, Commander."

Shepard turned back to look out over Rannoch's churning waters, taking in the distant horizon and the burning sky. She closed her eyes and flexed her toes inside her boots, pretending she was digging her toes into the warm dirt, that her heavy armor was not preventing any breezes from sweeping across her body. She saw an image of Javik on his homeworld, looking at it one last time before departing aboard the _Recourse;_ she saw Tali, admiring Rannoch before her closest friend made the decision to slaughter her people.

When she spoke, it was choked, tight with the strain of holding back. "Me, too."


	13. Chapter 13

Tali and Legion's names looked wrong on the memorial wall.

Shepard stared at them for what seemed like hours, silent, impassive. She studied the etching on the silvery nameplates, the laser-perfect engraved bends and curves in each letter. A mote of dust settled gently onto Tali's and she reached out to brush it away. Cold metal met her fingertips.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Garrus, walking toward the elevator. Upon seeing her there— _still_ there, as he had tried coming this way before—he spared her a remotely sympathetic look before turning sharply toward the med bay. She didn't fault him for wanting his own time to be alone; to grieve; to avoid the heavy conversations revolving around the loss of teammates. They had both experienced it many times before, and would possibly experience it many times more. While thinking about Garrus and his undoubtedly similar struggles with the situation, Shepard did not take much notice of the elevator door opening and closing behind her. It had happened many times since she'd been here, each anonymous crewmembers leaving her respectfully and solemnly to her business.

Whoever emerged from the elevator lingered for many moments behind her, hovering near enough to her shoulder that she could feel their presence but far enough that she couldn't put an identity to them. She felt her body grow cold from a pervasive feeling of nakedness, a feeling that she credited to her absence of armor. Her head especially felt too light without the familiar weight of her visor, and without its helpful notifications and scrolling readouts, her senses seemed lamed.

She supposed this mystery person behind her was Liara, come to give her comfort or reassurance, but Liara typically didn't loiter for too long without making her presence known. It was also very possible that it was Kaidan. While he didn't understand her relationship to Legion, he had been teammates with Tali as well so long ago. Those years on the _Normandy_ SR-1 seemed lost in her memories now, drowned by a swamp of nightmares and ill thoughts. She grimaced and looked at her feet. This action seemed to spur her visitor into motion, because they placed a hand lightly on her right bicep. The muscles there flinched under the touch, hypersensitive under too few layers of clothing.

_You have been here for some time, Commander._

Javik's voice caused her only momentary pause. Of all people who could have been shadowing her, she had thought him to be the _least_ likely. He'd been avoiding her since before the mission, and during it, they seemed to clash at every corner possible—sometimes literally. She had tucked any memory of the mission that wasn't Legion falling limp to the floor and Tali disappearing over the edge of a seaside cliff deep away, far down below those images that took precedence. But upon hearing Prothean, its rich, rolling tone guttural but gentle when covered with Javik's heavy accent and intonations, all else bubbled to the forefront. She saw him rushing toward her as she escaped from the Reaper's furious red beam, four bright, wide eyes reflecting Rannoch's sunset and its years of misery. She saw his hand outstretched, saw his weapons holstered at his back as his feet pounded the foreign soil, ridges at his throat pulsing as he panted. He reached for her, not his weapons; for her, not for cover. In that moment, when Shepard could feel heat from the monster at her heels burn into her back, Javik had only seen her.

"Yeah," was the only word she could force out.

His hand fell away, and almost immediately she wished for it to return, if only to feel the comfort of another's touch. Regardless, she stayed resolute, back turned and facing the memorial wall, the physical embodiment of the consequences of her decisions and actions. Their victory may have been pyrrhic, but she would not turn away.

Javik took two steps until he was by her side, standing to her right and staring at the memorial wall as a parallel to her. He still wore his armor, as he always did, but he had not cleaned or repaired it since they had returned from Rannoch. Shrapnel and heavy gunfire had pitted and burned it in places, and his cloth undersuit was ripped where it was exposed. She turned her head only slightly toward him to catch a glimpse of the side of his face. He held his head stiffly, regally, his eyes set on the wall, though she figured he probably knew she was looking him over. He had deep purplish rings around his eyes, and his lips seemed paler than usual. A cut caked with dried blood traced an angry red line from his high left cheekbone to his sharply curved jaw. She wanted to touch it, touch him, reassure her frothing insecurities that he was no phantom and had survived Rannoch just like her, but she reined her desire and instead turned back to face the wall. "You should get that cleaned up," she said simply, voice somewhat hoarse.

His gaze flicked to her in response, head remaining still.

"On your cheek," she clarified.

He huffed, and the armor over his chest rattled. A clasp hung loose somewhere. "That isn't important."

She folded her arms, probably the first real movement she had performed in an hour. "You can't be too careful."

He did turn to her this time, and she could see a small chip on the heavy plate over his skull that she hadn't seen before. The mark was fresh and pinkish in color. He must have noticed her staring, because he tilted his head in a way that would take it out of her line of vision. "Have you spoken with the Chakwas physician?"

"I wasn't hurt badly."

He paused, then continued, incredulous. "You were chased by a Reaper."

Her lips pressed into an uncomfortable half-smile. "It's not like I broke a leg or anything." At her words, a picture of Aabim lying helpless on the ground invaded her thoughts, and her smile abruptly disappeared. Javik's expression shifted but was otherwise unintelligible. "And anyway, I have other matters to attend to."

He looked at the memorial and then back at Shepard. "Such as stare at a wall?"

Perhaps in any other circumstance and with any other person, Javik's words might have been taken as offensive or abrasive or quite off-putting, but Shepard felt a great weight lift from her chest. She felt as though she could breathe again, though it was strangled. She laughed gently, softly.

He took a step back and turned his body slightly, looking around them to presumably see if any crewmembers were nearby. They were alone. With the news of the victory at Rannoch but of Tali and Legion's deaths, as well as the heavy casualties suffered by the quarian fleets, most of the crew had retreated to their quarters to reflect and attempt to get in touch with family and friends. Even Joker remained silent about the whole affair.

"Commander..." Javik began, sounding only slightly unsure. He looked from the closed doors of the elevator to her. "Do you wish to...speak?"

She looked at him fully now, turning, and only then realized exactly what shape he was in. His face was stained with dried blood, dirt, and soot from the residue on his damaged armor. She could see now what on his chest had made the rattling noise. A strip of crisscrossing plates hung loose and exposed a dangerously large portion of lightly clothed midsection. One hip plate seated slightly askew, and numerous tears and burns decorated his black pants. Both kneecaps were raw. She frowned. "I do, actually. Why don't you cover your knees?"

His face twisted in annoyance. "Prothean knees are not like human knees. The skin is hard. We leave them uncovered for better movement, for efficiency."

"They look pretty banged up."

"If you had suffered the same injuries, yours would be worn to bone."

The thought made her cringe, so she changed the subject. However interesting prothean physiology was, she couldn't stomach much more gore or pain. "Did you have something specific in mind? To talk about?"

"No. But perhaps you do." He folded his arms. It effectively covered his broken armor, which Shepard realized belatedly she had been focusing on, trying to piece together how it might be repaired. "The mission has been over for several hours. And yet you have done little else but dress, bathe, and mourn."

She wanted to argue the hypocrisy of his statement, wanted to point out that she had at least done this, while he still remained in his broken armor and hadn't even attended to his injuries, but the words died before she could form them. Even just as friendly banter, pointing this out would do nothing but cause harm. Clearly Javik sensed that she had discontinued her thought, because he spoke again.

"I will leave you for now, Commander."

His abrupt decision gave her a small shock. He had been the one to ask if she wished to speak, and now he was intentionally killing the conversation. She started to tell him that he was not bothering her, that it was no trouble, but he cut her off before she could protest.

"I came here to attend to some things. I have heard that the cargo bay is host to an armory and workbench." He looked pointedly down at his broken armor and torn undersuit, probing the loose-hanging latch and causing it to separate completely. He held it in his palm and grimaced. "I'll inform you if I need additional materials for repairs." With neither another word nor look, Javik disappeared inside the elevator, gone as quick as he had come. Shepard stared after him for a few moments, but in time, she turned back to the wall, back to studying grooves and dips in nameplates but refusing to read them.

It was only after Garrus finally called for her, when all else had gone still and her thoughts had again moved away from Javik and toward the consuming darkness in the back of her mind, the sound of Legion deactivating and the expression on Tali's pale, drawn face, that she moved away from the wall. Even then, she only made it into the empty mess hall, following the sound of his quiet voice, quieter than she ever remembered it.

He gave her a wan look as she approached, as if to say that he was surprised and dismayed that she was still at the wall. "Shepard," he said carefully, watching her face as if testing for a reaction. He would find none. "We...should talk."

She let her eyes fall from his face to his hands, empty and hanging at his sides. It seemed everyone wanted to talk now. She wasn't sure what to say, so she didn't, but his presence here now when before he seemed to be avoiding her made her insides churn fitfully with guilt and shame. She could face Javik, to whom Tali and Legion had been no more than strangers. But how could she face Garrus, who had been intimately familiar with the both of them? He had known them for so long, and she had let both of them slip away.

She watched his right hand rise, hesitate, and then settle on her shoulder. His three fingers were thick, heavy, but his touch was feather-light. No words accompanied this action, and she didn't look at his expression, but she knew the meaning behind it.

It's not your fault.

Don't punish yourself.

I don't blame you.

The hand squeezed ever so slightly before he pulled it away. His voice was strained. "I'm...not sure how this is done with humans. After these kinds of missions, turians would usually just...fight it out. No serious injuries, but it was a way to..."

The corners of her lips quirked into a half smile. "Blow off steam?"

He huffed, a gentle sound that was as amused as it was sad. "Yeah. Something like that."

After a moment, neither spoke, but Shepard finally broke the silence. "You can blame me, Garrus. It was my fault."

"It wasn't," he bit back quickly, perhaps a bit too loud, perhaps a bit too harshly. Immediately, he seemed embarrassed, and when she looked up at his face, his mandibles were pulled tightly against his face. "It wasn't," he repeated, slower, softer.

Her eyes trailed back toward where the memorial wall lay just out of view.

"I want to talk. You can't just let everything fester." He paused for a moment, and when he continued, he seemed rushed, anxious. "But not here. Not now. Tomorrow morning, when we've slept on it and had a night to think to ourselves."

She nodded.

"Maybe it's none of my business, and maybe I'm going about this all wrong, but I think it would help to talk to someone. Someone who knew Tali and Legion."

The spoken names of her late teammates sent a fresh stake through her heart, but she swallowed a cringe and nodded again. She thought she might have heard a touch of bitterness in his last sentence, as well, but it could have been his subvocals giving false cues. "The morning, then. I'll leave my quarters unlocked."

She saw his mandibles withdraw slightly, relaxing with a light turian smile. "Good. I have something to give you, besides."

* * *

The quiet typically offered her peace, a respite from daily bustlings and happenings. But in her cabin now, where the bubbling fishtank and low hum of the _Normandy's_ engines filled otherwise untouchable voids, Shepard could not find rest in it. She turned her radio on and then off again, unable to find a score appropriate for the circumstances. To what music could she mourn her friends and comrades, both of whom had died as a direct result of her actions? To what procession of notes and noise could she remember the quarian fleet destroyed, despite having never met them; Legion's body falling limp to the dirt, the light gone from his optics and cables? Each melody she switched to sounded hollower than the last.

She paced, counting rivets in the steel walls.

It had been the same feeling as after Noveria: the guilt; the loneliness; knowing they were rotting somewhere while she sat awake and alive in her cushy cabin. Ashley's death resounded loudly in her mind, her warm, confident face belying the truth behind her reassurances: that it was all Shepard's fault. That something Shepard had said, something Shepard had done, had led Ashley down a path of fire and pain.

Shepard's omni-tool lit up for the second time in the past ten minutes, but again she paid it no attention. It was tuned to "silent" except for emergencies, and she assumed the somber orange now coloring her forearm just meant that someone else was trying to reach her. She would face them all in due time. She'd stand before her remaining crew with a stony and confident face, feet planted firmly and arms clasped behind her back. She'd debrief them, explain what happened but not all the details of why, assure them that Tali and Legion died as heroes and that an entire quarian fleet burning up in Rannoch's atmosphere was an unfortunate casualty of wartime. She'd remind them to stay the course. She'd remind them that they still had a war to win—for Ashley, for Mordin, for Tali, for Legion, and for all who had fallen victim. But she would not do any of this right now, when she could hardly convince herself that everything would work out for the better.

The sound of her doors opening startled her enough that she took a step back and her right arm twitched, reflexively reaching for a firearm before she remembered that she wore none in the safety of her cabin. Javik stood just outside of her doorway, appearing at least mildly embarrassed, not making a move to cross the threshold into her room. She couldn't bring herself to be surprised to see him. Hardly anything he did surprised her anymore. Something about him looked smaller, besides; he looked more vulnerable—raw in a way that she couldn't quite place in her distracted state of mind.

"I...wasn't aware it was unlocked," he explained, looking from the door's frame to Shepard. "You will have a message from me on your...device," he continued, still not moving from his spot in the hall. His voice carried through her wide room, almost echoing.

Shepard glanced down at her arm, then activated her omni-tool. Javik had indeed pinged her some time ago, leaving a message requesting that he come up to see her. It was stiff and formal, and when she looked back up to him, he looked entirely unsure, as if he was regretting even saying two words to her. She remembered the words he had said to her in front of the memorial wall, and not wanting to turn him away again with her silence, bid for him to enter.

He made to step inside, and she finally noticed that he was not wearing his armor. He still wore the black kneeless leggings and the off-white tunic that he always wore as an undersuit, but the smooth red slopes she had long come to associate with him were gone. His neck was bare, unprotected by his usual large collar and tall spaulders, and the ribbing at his throat seemed to taper off into a point somewhere beneath his tunic, perhaps at his collarbone. The opportunity to continue inspecting him never came, because he stepped close enough to her that she couldn't look at him without making it obvious what she was doing. It was intriguing to see how different he was from her, especially knowing that he was the last of his kind. The thought did nothing but add another ache to her chest.

She turned away from him, moving to shuffle some belongings on her desk. "If you came for a debriefing, you should know that I plan to give one tomorrow to the whole crew. It'd be best if you waited until then."

He was quiet for a beat, but when he spoke, it was low, undertoned by unspoken question and some hesitance she had never heard from him before now. "I did not come for a debriefing, Commander."

She looked at him over her shoulder. He stared at her still, hands by his side, loose-fitting tunic covering down to his forearms and tight black sleeves beneath that extending to the bottom of his palms. The tunic was long, hanging well past his thighs in the front and back, but at his sides, it looped up to rest on the curve of each jutting hip. "Then what do you need?" she wanted to ask, but the dips and bumps and unfamiliar landscape of whatever lay behind his clothing distracted her. She had never seen him so bare, and she assumed the only person to share with her in this aspect was Chakwas and perhaps his former teammates.

Rather belatedly, Shepard realized that neither of them had yet spoken. Whether Javik knew she had been looking him up and down or not, she didn't know, but she hurried to speak before he noticed. "Where's your armor?"

"Setting. The repairs I've made need time."

"Will it be ready to wear by tomorrow? I'll make a note to exclude you from any missions if not."

She watched his jaw twitch. "There is no need. My armor will be done by tonight."

She turned back to her desk. "Good," she said, her back to him once again.

This time, Javik did not allow the silence to stretch very long before them. He spoke quietly. "I came to help, Commander."

Shepard stilled, fingertips hovering above a datapad that scrolled languidly. "With what?" She moved slowly to face him and lean against the desk, bracing herself with her palms on the lip of it.

He stiffened before he began to speak, ribbing at his neck pulsing. "From what I have seen, humans—" he began, but then corrected himself: "—most humans—choose to grieve alone. Is this untrue of you?"

"Not always. Sometimes."

He inclined his head in such a way that his gaze seemed to soften. The sharp contours of Javik's face hardly afforded it to ever be described as tender or sympathetic, but the way he looked at her now, the way his mouth turned downward and his four bright eyes stared levelly at her, she could almost see it. "Perhaps," he began, his voice much quieter, the vibrating undertones rumbling gently, "you would like someone with whom to grieve."

It took Shepard approximately five seconds too long to figure out what he had suggested, because he shifted his stance and looked as if he'd made some grave mistake. She moved quickly to reassure him, opening her mouth to speak but then closing it. "Javik," she started, presumably stopping him from telling her to forget he ever said anything and slinking off to some task as he had earlier. "You...you didn't know Tali and Legion. I know that. And I know you weren't on the best of terms with them."

"The quarian and I had made our peace," he corrected, nodding curtly as if to acknowledge her memory. "I cannot say the same for the AI. But that is not important, Commander. It was not my friends who were lost in battle, and it is not for my benefit that I am offering my assistance."

She had never considered Javik to be the sympathetic type, even knowing all that she did about him. His attitude always seemed to reflect the idea of weathering the storm and standing strong rather than running for help elsewhere. She nodded at him, though, wondering what exactly he had in mind. Would he want to talk it out with her? Share stories about the quarian as they were in his cycle? Maybe relate a similar situation that he had experienced?

"I believe I have mentioned it before. In times of great anguish, my people would use our touch to soothe one another. During injury when no anaesthetic was available, when a loved one was lost, or sometimes before death." His eyes—all four of them, bright gold in the sterile grey of her room—moved quickly over her face, searching perhaps for some reaction to his words. "We have shared memories before, when you were poisoned. It helped."

"It might even have saved me."

He glanced down at the place on her midsection where she had once been injured, then back up.

"I'm not injured. Chakwas took care of whatever bruised me up back on Rannoch." She rubbed her left arm, still somewhat sore from when a geth had wrenched it backwards. She had spoken with Javik before, but never like this—never alone in her cabin, never with them in such states of undress, never with her mental faculties stretched so thin.

"It is not your physical wounds that concern me."

The meaning behind what he said hit her with sudden and startling clarity. Just like when he transferred memories after the poisoning, he wanted to use his abilities to help her. He wanted to heal whatever hurt ached her. The situation presented itself with entirely different intent, though; while on the Cerberus station, he had meant to preserve her life. Here he meant only to chase away the dark animals of regret and grief that skulked quietly in her mind.

His eyes shift to look pointedly at her bed. "This is where you sleep?" he asked, though she doubted he really needed her confirmation.

"Yes," she answered stiffly, looking also to her bed, still made up from when she had awkwardly fixed the covers in full armor before the mission. "Your beds looked different?"

"I don't know."

It occurred to her that she had no idea just how much Javik did and didn't remember. Liara had told her that he most likely remembered little to nothing about his past, with the exception of possibly the precious hours before his descent into stasis, but he seemed to catch glimpses of his more distant past from time to time. He had remembered his favorite fish, and he remembered basic cultural norms. If he continued to transfer memories with her, would he eventually run out? Just how much did he know? She asked her last thought aloud, watching his face for any modicum of discomfort: "Does it open up new memories for you?"

His gaze remained level, his posture completely unchanging. But for all the staring that Shepard did, he elected not to answer, instead saying, "We should begin," in a cool voice.

She made a careful word of agreement, moving to ready herself for sleep. He moved his eyes politely away from her when she gripped the zipper at her collarbone and started to pull it down, but other than this, he showed no indication that he found their situation strange.

She felt oddly embarrassed to be slowly undressing in front of Javik, despite the fact that she had never been ashamed about her body or its various states of dress. But she felt vulnerable somehow, and this vulnerability gripped her warmly and nervously. Javik stared quite intently at her model ship collection. Whether he did this out of respect for her modesty or simple complete disinterest in her or her thinly clad body remained entirely unclear. Shepard laid her hoodie and t-shirt gingerly over her desk chair once she had finished removing them, bending afterwards to unstrap her boots. Once stripped to just her thin undershirt, frayed under-leggings, and dingy military-issue grey socks, she cleared her throat, prompting Javik to look her way. She hadn't meant to signal for his attention, but the way his eyes moved to settle on her face—and nothing else—made her muscles tense.

"I don't want it to be too dark for you," she said, voice quiet, "so I'll just lower the lights."

"Turn them off." He continued to stare impassively at her, ever unfettered by what continued to unfold around them. "If that is how you normally sleep."

She nodded, and with only a few short steps, turned the lights off at the wall console. Immediately, near-darkness bathed her room. Preprogramming in her private terminal as well as the large fish tank caused the backlighting in them to dim dramatically, and as Shepard drew closer to her bed, her room gradually grew even darker behind her. Javik remained to the side of her bed, just in front of her armor locker, head lowered slightly as he watched her. His eyes glowed gold and subdued, four pools of dull light in the pitch darkness. It would not be enough to distract her from sleep, but for now, it was certainly enough to cause her momentary pause. With his eyes slightly alight as they were, she couldn't track their movements nearly as well, and she couldn't be sure if he was staring at her or at some point just behind her. She had never seen his eyes glow like this before, but then again, she'd never been in total darkness with him, either. "You can see in the dark," she noted, wondering only momentarily if her observation was wrong.

"Somewhat. Better than you, undoubtedly."

She smoothed back the blanket on her bed, revealing an all too inviting space into which she would, under normal circumstances, crawl into with a contented sigh. Instead, she forced more conversation, feeling awkward and desperate to encourage all thoughts away from the reality that Javik would be watching her sleep. She did trust him, of course, as she trusted any crewmate who collaborated with her on the battlefield and in delicate circumstances...but this was far more intimate. "How did you handle that during night missions?"

Javik huffed and folded his arms, though the telltale clink of armor that accompanied this action did not come. Instead, Shepard only heard the soft sounds of shifting fabric, and she found herself thrown out of sorts by it. "Some handled it much as the quarians did." When Shepard's curious look did not waver, one hand still resting on her folded-back blanket, he went on. "Helmets or tinted visors, in most cases. Although I am partial to neither."

"I've noticed."

"Most protheans refused to hide behind masks, the cover of darkness included. Occasionally it was necessary, these tasks requiring anonymity undertaken by the women. They are smaller, less noticeable. They are not as...bright."

"What do you mean?"

"Their colors," he clarified, four circles of light moving with him as he looked her up and down, as if to appraise her own colors. "Where men were green and blue, they were grey and brown. Where we were red, they were pink. Their eyes glowed less and with softer colors."

She wanted to ask him if he'd had a small brown prothean woman at his side at any point, but she swallowed the question. He probably didn't remember, but even if he did, bringing it up would only hurt him. All that he had once known of his people was now lost to time, brown-skinned and softly glowing prothean women included.

He didn't continue with this line of discussion, and not wanting to prolong whatever feelings accompanied his recalling of the past, Shepard picked back up where she left off. She slid under the blankets and adjusted herself until she was comfortable. She stayed very still, staring at the nothingness around her, until her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Beside her, still standing next to her armor locker, she could see the outline of Javik. The glow of his eyes was pacifying somehow, and the silence between them became much less uncomfortable. Presently, her mind began to wander, though she tried fruitlessly to keep it off of the recent tragic events.

Javik's weight pressing down her mattress unnerved and disoriented her, but she found it wasn't entirely unpleasant. He kept his back to her, the lines of his shoulders so much smaller without the bulk of his armor. She was prepared for the memory transference, for the feeling of freefalling out of her own life and landing haphazardly in photographs of his, but she would have preferred if he carried it out as soon as possible. She drew her arm around his side, resting her hand lightly on his thigh as a signal to start.

He remained completely quiet. At a loss, Shepard fought down fragments of memories from the events on Rannoch. As much as she tried, she couldn't force Tali's face—for once unobscured by the helmet—out of her mind. She couldn't banish Legion's subdued but content voice from filtering over her thoughts. As she lay in the stillness of the room, her hand on Javik's leg and Javik on her bed and the _Normandy_ humming around them both, Shepard felt completely powerless. The Reapers would come, as they had with Javik's civilization. They would kill more. Her chances at victory weren't great—weren't really even _good_ —and anyone who said otherwise was deluded.

Javik's impassive back showed her no emotion and gave her no reassurance. He was alive, and so was she, and many others still were, but it was not enough. As long as the cold grip of death touched even one person, it would never be enough. Her cabin felt impossibly large, and Shepard herself felt impossibly small. Suddenly, instead of warm in a bed on a warship beside a man who had been asleep for the past 50,000 years, she found herself on a cot in a dirty Earth shelter, curled protectively around a pack of her meager belongings in a room full of other disadvantaged strangers. She was thirteen years old again, entirely alone in her life and owning nothing but a fleece blanket, some spare clothing, a backpack, and her name.

But Commander Shepard now, thirty-two years old and entertaining the company of a prothean, tried very hard not to let her lower lip tremble. Commander Shepard, decorated hero, Earthborn, first human Spectre, Alliance starchild, gritted her teeth very hard. For the first time in a long time, Commander Shepard hastily wiped away a tear and was grateful that Javik's back remained to her.

She wondered why he hadn't started the memory transference process yet, giving in completely and allowing memories to flood her. She saw a flurry of faces—every person who had died under her command, every enemy she had killed and their families, grieving for lost sons and daughters. Perhaps he'd changed his mind and was simply waiting for her to fall asleep now. Perhaps he'd felt pressured to come up and reassure her.

She withdrew her hand, sliding it off of Javik's thigh and returning it under her blanket. She turned onto her side, facing her back to him. Sleep came sooner than she expected, claiming her with a hollow embrace and dragging her beneath a thin atmosphere of fear. She dozed lightly, toeing the line between wakefulness and true sleep, her surroundings melting between the common dark forest of her most current dreams and the clean grey walls of her cabin. Whispers still hung thick no matter her environment, Legion and Tali asking her the same questions over and over again. Commander, why didn't you do more? Commander, why did we have to die?

Something on the bed—something that wasn't her and was most probably Javik—shifted, and then there was a light pressure against her cheek, and her mind quieted with only a stutter of resistance.

* * *

Shepard could maintain only a small fragment of lucidity while involved in Javik's memories. She could vaguely tell that Javik was much smaller than usual, and the air was warm and humid. Beside him, an even smaller prothean stood. It was a child, and it stared curiously at what lie in front of them. Javik turned to look, as well, and the sight of a large, calm greenish-blue lake greeted him.

"We should not..." Javik began, his voice high and his usual vibrations hardly even registering. He dipped a curious bare toe in the lakewater and then quickly drew it back at the cold temperature, wincing. "And it is cold."

The smaller prothean child scoffed and bent to gather up the hem of his dark blue robe. The shoulders and breast were decorated with silver-lined insignias and symbols that Shepard didn't recognize. "When will we ever have another chance? You're leaving tomorrow."

Javik watched as his companion waded stiffly into the water, legs thin and knees knobby. He turned to face Javik and feigned a delighted smile. "It's great!"

"Aabim," Javik warned, and though his voice was high-pitched with immaturity and not nearly as full, Shepard could still hear his familiar intonations. "We will both be punished. I am the—"

"—the Avatar of Vengeance, right, right." Aabim, his crest short and stubby and more forest green in color than the dark brown that Shepard was accustomed to from Javik's previous memories, waved a dismissive hand. In the process, a side of his robe drooped into the water, and he scrambled to scoop it back up.

Javik narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms resolutely. The fabric of his own robe felt itchy and too thick in the heat of the day. "I have responsibilities. Duties. Expectations to be fulfilled. We don't have time to play when the Reapers could come at any moment and destroy this entire planet without warning."

"Then isn't that all the more reason?"

Javik considered this for a moment, and Shepard could feel the indecision in his mind. She could feel the way that his desires and his sense of duty warred. And yet, despite these very mature inclinations, she could still feel the excited young voice of Javik calling out to play in the water with Aabim.

As Javik stepped forward, the lake's edge lapping his toes, the world began to tilt and warble. When she regained her senses, Shepard found herself bathed in cool night air. Above her, the sky bled in white pinpricks of millions of stars, more than she had ever seen on any planet. She knew it was dark, but somehow she could see very far and fairly clearly.

"When do you think she'll come back?" a small voice asked to Javik's left. He looked there, turning eyes upon a tiny form with knees to its chest. It was a prothean child and very, very small. Javik himself seemed much smaller than the previous memory as well. The prothean child's crest was vivid, the color of Earth grass in the spring.

The child stared expectantly at Javik, mouth downturned. He waited patiently for an answer.

Javik turned away, shame burning hot in his gut. "She won't." He wanted to give a better answer, but he didn't have one. He turned his eyes to the sky again, and the color of nighttime swam until it became red and hazy with sunset. When he again lowered his gaze, he was looking out across a brownish landscape dotted with rocks and occasional jagged foliage. Shepard was confused and disoriented until a Reaper cried out and the percussion rattled Javik's teeth. He was on Rannoch, and for a terrifying moment, Shepard wondered if her nightmares had become his.

" _Keelah,_ it's huge," Tali breathed from somewhere behind him, her voice panicked but most importantly _alive._ Her voice made Shepard want to turn and rush toward her, but she was in Javik's body now and in an entirely different time—a time where she had no control and could only watch silently. Javik didn't react much to her voice, instead staring with her at the Reaper that climbed unsteadily to its feet, struggling like a newborn fawn until it found purchase and wailed again. Its red eye turned toward Shepard in the distance, who stood unmoving and far too close to it.

Terror the likes Shepard had never felt seized Javik in a vice grip, squeezing his throat until he could scarcely breathe. That he was now running as fast as possible toward Shepard did not help his breathing situation. Shepard's form—her own form, and only now did she realize how doomed she must have looked—turned in that moment and raced toward Javik and the vehicle manned by Legion. In her own face, Shepard saw a familiar note of panic, amazement, and determination.

The thought "Not again," raced through Javik's mind as he watched the Reaper lumber closer to Shepard, watched Shepard run but not fast enough. He collided with her on an exhale of breath, uncaring about the lack of grace or how he was normally so self-aware of his own body and where it was going. He took hold of the closest limb he could—her arm—and questioned her once in a voice that was more terrified trill than rolling vibrations, never stopping running. The Reaper's beam made the air hot as it cut toward them. He felt her body give as she stumbled over something, a voice screaming _"Not again,"_ so loudly in his head that Shepard could hear little else, but he never released her. Even if she had fallen, even if she had been unable to recover her footing, Shepard had no doubt that he would have dragged her limp body through Rannoch's soil all the way to Legion and Tali and relative safety. She did recover, though, and shortly afterward they dove into the geth vehicle, rocking it on its foundations. Shepard landed heavily atop Javik, who had never let go of her arm and had clutched his free hand to the back of her armor, gripping some shelf there. He took only a moment to revel in their small victory, to breathe, before Shepard scrambled off of him and disappeared into the upper deck of the pod.

Javik lay for many moments on the metal floor, even as he heard the mounted turret roar to life under Shepard's hands. Tali paid him little attention and Legion gave him even less. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs, his hands shaking. He struggled to keep his breath even. It had almost happened again.

Shepard re-emerged, her face a hard and fierce sight, climbing down the ladder. Javik looked at her and Tali said her name in puzzlement, and Shepard only said, "Legion, stop here!"

Legion questioned her, but she shot it down quick enough. Shepard, still tucked quietly inside Javik's mind, only now thought back on how insane she must have seemed.

"Stop. I'm getting out."

Open panic and unrestrained anger brewed hotly within Javik in that moment, and he bared his teeth, vibrations already rumbling in his chest, but Tali spoke before he could. "Shepard, you don't want to do this."

Shepard said nothing. She pulled the laser targeting device form her back, and, obediently, unquestioningly, Legion opened the pod doors for her. She saw herself washed in the colors of sunset, and she saw the grim confidence across her stern face, the defiant spread of her feet, the determined lines of her shoulders. She looked confident, triumphant even though they teetered on the edge of a nearly unwinnable battle. It was little wonder her teammates followed her so faithfully if she looked like this all the time. It was the first time in a long time that Shepard really reflected on what she was: an uplifted street rat; a scarred lone survivor; a highly capable commander. For the first time in far, far too long, Shepard felt proud. They had taken casualties—some that may have been preventable—but at the end of the day, Shepard and her team still toppled a Reaper, still united the geth and quarians, and still helped an entire species win back their long-lost homeworld.

Javik felt no such inclinations of pride, and the difference between Shepard's swells of contentment and his crashing waves of alarm played a strange battle. Before she could jump out of the vehicle and race toward the Reaper that she had only moments ago narrowly avoided, Javik grabbed her again by the arm. When she turned to face him, her face was the same. It did nothing to soothe him.

She would not relent. He knew it. He only gave her a stiff nod and then released her, taking a step back. She remained a moment longer, in which her expression finally broke and she raised her eyebrows at him, but he worked desperately and fervently to keep his own expression closed. It had worked, she remembered, but only partially. She wished now that she could again see the brief twist of _something_ on his face.

"Stay safe," she told him, a whisper that chilled him, before she bounded out the door. He watched her for as long as he was able, hands closing and unclosing into tight fists, until Legion was forced to pilot the pod to a safer distance.

Javik saw none of the battle that Shepard waged with the Reaper, and Shepard noted that, curiously, this memory was far more vivid than any other she had received from him. Every detail was perfectly clear, every moment passing as if it were happening in real time. Javik stayed silent and still inside the pod while Tali chattered nervously to Legion and Legion tittered back. With the door closed, he could not see outside. He only heard the sounds—the awful sounds of the Reaper firing its beam again and again. Each new beam meant that Shepard had survived the last, but then the wait between it and the next kept his nerves frazzled. He was always so cool, so smooth, that feeling these emotions inside of him—these emotions that threatened to overtake his very being but that did not manifest on his physical body—put her in something of a state of shock. She rationalized that it was because of his past experiences with teammates and Reaper standoffs, remembering Aabim on the ground and the taste of burnt flesh in the air, but Javik noticed that the Reaper had not discharged at her in quite some time, and his emotions rolled over her thoughts like a thick miasma. Her control over her own thoughts and feeling fell away completely until all that remained were Javik's. She did not exist here anymore; only he did—only he and his hands throwing open the pod's doors.

Tali was out before he was, fast for an injured person, walking steadily toward the veritable ground zero now that the painkillers had taken root. Javik did not leave the geth vehicle, one hand braced on the open door, staring up at the Reaper as it toppled in the distance. On a cliff near it, so small that she was no more than a vague shape against the horizon, stood Shepard. Whole, intact, and alive.

Tali continued toward her commander, but Javik did not, instead electing to lean heavily against the door and let every tense muscle relax. Legion exited the vehicle as well, keeping a fair pace behind Tali. He watched them both approach Shepard, watched Shepard speak with them, watched the Reaper crackle fitful and red in its death throes until it was no longer comfortable to stand. He looked down at his knees, raw and red from scrambling in and out of cover, and at the piece hanging loose on his armor that had been dislodged during his initial collision with Shepard and then worsened when she'd landed on top of him.

They had killed a second Reaper, and it had been more than his people had ever been able to accomplish.

Shepard regained herself slowly, watching the scene first as one entity and then separately from Javik. She did not feel what he felt now, but from the way he slumped, she supposed it was mostly exhaustion and relief. She watched the small, distant forms of her and her teammates against the red of Rannoch's sky. Legion crumpled. Tali fell. The sun set.

When Shepard awoke, it was gently, Rannoch's twilight blurring into the muted grey walls and ceiling of her cabin. Her fishtank still bubbled. The artificial light had begun to grow brighter to simulate a sun rising. She stared at nothing with her eyes half closed.

Legion and Tali had been instrumental in defeating a second Reaper, in bringing hope to a universe sorely lacking. They would be remembered as heroes. Shepard would make sure of it, but she didn't think she'd really need to. The geth would speak of Legion for eons to come, and though he had only briefly experienced individuality, she knew it was enough. The quarians would remember Tali'Zorah as a recapturer of their homeworld, and though she felt Rannoch's air against her bare skin only once, she knew it was enough.

Shepard had done what she could. She had fought her hardest. She had done what she thought was right, and in the end, everyone had come together to overcome yet another set of odds stacked against them.

And she knew it was enough.


End file.
